Return to Gaea
by Peripheral Vision
Summary: Five years after the great war the decision to live apart will have dire consequences for Van and Hitomi. Now complete.
1. Part 1: The Boy King

*Warning* HUGE spoilers dwell here. It's a continuation, what did  
you expect?  
  
  
  
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The Vision of Escaflowne: A Return to Gaea   
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Part One-- The Boy King   
  
  
  
And thou were sad- yet I was not with thee;  
And thou wert sick, and yet I was not near;  
Methought that joy and health alone could be  
Where I was *not*- and pain and sorrow here!  
  
It is not in the storm nor in the strife  
We feel benumb'd, and wish to be no more,  
But in the after-silence on the shore,  
When all is lost, except a little life.  
Lord Byron  
****  
  
  
Sometimes on late summer mornings a pale ghost of the  
Mystic Moon still hangs visible in the sky, above the sun. Folk  
wisdom, whose truth is taken lightly because it is merely practical,  
warns that these morning-moons promise a hot sticky day, and the  
people of Fanelia spent their mornings slowly and indoors, practicing a  
sort of forced leisure to avoid the worst of the heat. On days like this  
it was unfortunate to live in the Fanelien Valley where there was no  
shelter from the sun and it beat down without distraction. It was  
better to live in High Fanelia which used to be a forest and still   
kept hints of woodland cool.  
  
In the old days, when the kingdom had fit snugly in the valley  
alone, there was no high Fanelia. Now, after the war, after Fanelia had  
been rebuilt into a kingdom where-- everyone's neighbor swore --  
wheat was gold and vinu ran in the streets, people had poured into  
Fanelia until they had overflowed into the neutral territory bordering  
the central city. Fanelia was the kingdom of wonders, and people came  
for the wealth, for the tranquility and, although many might not have  
seen it as their reason, because Fanelia was Van-sama's kingdom.  
  
It was Van-sama, after all, who had streaked across the sky  
like a falcon those five years ago, so intent on something outside  
himself on a day of inexplicable, controlling greed so gruesome many  
of the survivors chose to die rather than live with the memory of it,  
those passionate, blinded soldiers looked up as one, knew they  
were witnessing something holy and dropped their swords. It was  
Van-sama who ended Dornkirk's power although no one knew exactly  
how and that secret would follow Van to the grave. Van remained  
painstakingly careful to give credit to those he fought beside, claiming  
their victories were of far greater significance than his own, but  
people, desperately needing a hero, clung to the idea that Van was the  
sole bringer of this fledgling peace. Van-sama was the only one they  
were willing to listen to.  
  
And so it was Van-sama who told them in simple, reasonable  
words about ideas so sweet and hopeful they glowed like honey. He  
spoke of his martyred brother and Dornkirk and their ideals of peace  
and utter contentment. Peace should be striven for, he said, and  
Dornkirk's trying in itself was admirable although the methods he used  
were wrong, but this was not a war started by one lone madman. He  
described Gaea as a tapestry and people were the threads, and  
tapestries, everyone knows, can only be made by weaving. You could  
not fight with a neighbor or hang an innocent and then beg your king  
for peace. Looking down from the sky, there were no boundaries, only  
rivers that flowed through town after town, twining and  
interconnecting, providing everyone with the same water. Van told  
them true peace was not a result of war or domination or fear  
of fighting back but when people let go of their dragons in order to  
hold each other. And the tired, hungry crowds-- crowds made of  
entire nations-- could see both the work needed and the brilliant result  
of that work, and they cheered Van and the new age they would help  
him bring.  
  
It was Van-sama who rose Fanelia from its ashes in just a year  
and a half, digging foundations and welding plumbing himself as often  
as not. It was Van-sama who traveled around Gaea to ask the wise  
men about their theories on human nature and industrial improvement   
and combined and revised their ideas before making them law.   
It was Van-sama who negotiated the peace treaty with Zaibach,   
keeping its borders and most of its previous wealth intact, because   
he claimed petty grudges did not produce harmony. It was Van-sama   
who organized the nine-kingdom alliance, arguing for equal rights for   
each with conviction that resembled rage in its urgency.  
  
Van had been an eager and inexperienced boy king of what  
was then a small country. He had grown into himself a little since the  
war but most of his development had gone toward his eyes and hair  
years ago, and he would never be a very tall or physically imposing  
presence. They used to say he was short of everything except  
delusions. Such a person should never have won the respect and  
loyalty of old, settled kings like Aston. Van was such a novelty,  
his complete lack of pretense, proper etiquette or self-regard   
so astonishing, that the fat, established kings, worn and somber  
from the war, allowed him to bully and badger them into compliance  
simply to humor the lad before realizing that many of his ideas  
worked. Now when there was a dispute over trade or the peasants  
seem ready to revolt, kings traveled to Fanelia to ask Van for  
guidance.  
  
Van would never be imposing; he had no need to be.  
The king of Fanelia was known to be a worrisomely thin, wild-haired  
boy with ancient eyes and a tender, infrequent smile; handsome   
in the careless, windswept way some people who don't bother with   
such things are. Van was quiet upon first acquaintance. Most people   
saw it as the unobtrusive, trusting quiet of the inherently kind, but   
those who knew such things recognized in him the focused calm of   
all good soldiers. Van was both the source and the symbol of this   
exciting new era of peace and contentment and he was adored  
violently, protectively, reverently.  
  
So if Van-sama chose to spend a few morning hours of this  
hot, irritable day lying on the palace roof, staring at the remaining hint  
of the Mystic Moon and clutching the pendant he always wore but  
never explained, no Fanelian would begrudge him the time.  
  
He saw a page running through the courtyard below out of the  
corner of his eye, searching frantically for-- Van could assume-- him.  
The page was probably only six months at court and it had been a few  
years since he snuck onto the roof regularly. If he could have had his  
way Van would have spent those first few excruciating months as an   
owlish, brooding gargoyle, eyes raised eternally upwards. Merle--  
kind, ever practical Merle-- had reasoned and prodded and  
occasionally downright nagged him into activity. Of course, if he ever  
had any hope of having his way, Van would have...   
  
He jumped down and landed before the page in a bent kneed  
crouch before finishing the thought. The page, unused to falling   
monarchs, took a few stuttering paces back before steadying himself,   
unrolling a parchment and reading in a clear, rehearsed voice with only   
a slight tremor, "Van-sama, Perione-sama requests your presence in  
the study to discuss matters of vital importance."  
  
"Which ones?"  
  
The page looked up. "Van-sama?"  
  
"The vitally important matters," Van elaborated, hoping he  
sounded patient. "Did he tell you what they were?"  
  
The page scanned the paper desperately. "It... doesn't say,  
Van-sama."  
  
Van sighed, making sure the page didn't hear it.  
"Thank you. Tell him I'm coming."  
  
The page nodded and sprang off in the opposite direction,  
tripping over his legs in his haste. Van darkly suspected that giving  
him a message or bringing him a drink for the first time was  
considered a right of passage among the pages. The squires  
certainly kept yearly tallies of who he complemented the most. Being  
respected to the point of idolatry by his future Samurai like this was  
dangerous. The loyalty essential between a leader and his soldiers was  
not a matter of awe. A man could only wave a name before him like a  
flag and crusade out of faith that a person is a cause ephemerally. True   
loyalty, loyalty which men died for, was a comfortable thing. It was  
when a man saw his superior as a person, but as a person he  
understood and trusted and admired.   
  
Van resolved to talk to the pages more, let them see he wasn't a  
walking myth themselves. Decision firmly in mind, he wiped the  
sweat off his forehead and rang it out of his shirt before he went to  
speak with Perione.  
  
Any leader worth his salt had an advisor like Perione, who  
could only sleep three hours a night tortured as he was by unceasing  
anxiety over the two percent drop in grain production or  
a ten-member gang of thieves who had raided three hen-houses  
already. Being near someone obsessed with minutiae  
was a key element of keeping perspective. Even Van who, out of  
deep-seated suspicion of people who would choose a career telling  
other people what to think, had only three advisors, three of whom  
who had known him since birth, kept Perione around. He had grown  
fond of him in a patient, condescending sort of way.  
  
The page was reporting to Perione when Van walked in the door,   
then scurried to the corner when he saw him. The study, which Van   
vastly preferred to the great hall, was large and brown and full of   
comforting nooks where a small boy could hide. Van had  
spent countless hours in there playing hide-and-catch-can as a child.  
  
Perione bowed deeply, sagging with relief. "Van-sama, thank   
you for coming at once. This really is most urgent."  
  
"Uhuh." Van sat down at the table, his arms behind his head.  
  
"Well-- this is just first, it isn't really the important thing-- this  
heat is supposed to last at least three more weeks."  
  
"I'd hate to think what a thunderstorm would be classified as if that  
was the important thing."  
  
"Yes, Van-sama," Perione said politely, humoring him. "The king   
of Basram's had his first grandchild two weeks ago, and you  
still haven't written him a letter of congratulations. It would be very  
rude not to take care of this i--"   
  
"Is something wrong with the mail?" Van interrupted as a memory  
sparked in his brain. "It's been at least a week since I've gotten a letter  
from Merle."  
  
Perione's lips thinned. "That is... unfortunate, Van-sama, but  
to get back to the matter at hand--"  
  
"Ano . . . " said the page cautiously, looking up from a pile of  
paper across the room.  
  
Van swivelled around in the chair. "Yes?"  
  
"Would... Merle..." The page faltered, withering under Van's  
intently serious eyes. "Is Merle... is she--" He stopped again.  
  
"Just spit it out, boy," Perione snapped.  
  
Van looked at him sternly from the corner of his eye, brows  
raised, before lacing his fingers under his chin and refocusing on the  
page. "I'm sorry that Perione was so rude. Is Merle the sort of person   
who would what?"  
  
"Would Merle send a pink letter and use a seal with a paw-print on  
it?" the boy got out in a rush, holding up a cheerful piece of  
paper retrieved from the drifts of documents floating around the room.  
  
Van reached for the envelope, its bright delicate colors contrasting  
with his coarse, faintly scarred hands. "She's exactly that kind of  
person. How did you know where to look?"  
  
Uncertain how he was supposed to act, the page safely stared   
down at the floor. "I'm just good at finding things, Van-sama."  
  
"That's a very useful talent to have." The page looked up with  
an excited little gasp, and Van nodded affirmation. The boy's grin  
was a thing of rainbows. "You've done me a great service and I thank  
you very much. What's your name?"  
  
"Lewilren," Lewilren said, lost in wonder. He added impetuously.  
"Lewilren Yarda. I came from the west end of Fanelian Valley and I've  
been at court for four months. Most people call me Ren."  
  
Van bowed on one knee before him with deliberate ceremony.  
"Thank you again, Ren de Fanelian Valley. If you have no pressing  
duties, you can spend the rest of the day at the water butt. It's the best  
place to go on hot days if I remember right."  
  
Ren nodded, mute as some children are in the throes of   
excitement, before dashing out of the room.  
  
Van stood up immediately, facing Perione, his face drawn in  
fierce, thin calm. "To even put this with the rest of the paper--"  
  
"I'm sorry, Van-sama," Perione said miserably.  
  
"Don't interrupt me," Van nearly growled. "To put this with  
the unimportant papers... You obey me unless it means being kind   
to beastmen?"  
  
"I don't know who is responsible," Perione said, knowing 'you' was  
a collective term for society in general. "But I will find out  
quickly..."  
  
"Yes, you will," Van snapped. He sat back down, cradling his  
forehead in his palm. "Unimportant..." he said as if to himself,  
mournfully tired.  
  
Perione bowed his head, painfully unsure of what to say.   
Instinctively, he wanted to offer comfort but he knew it wouldn't be  
appreciated if even acknowledged. He couldn't ease the unnatural,  
debilitating, vitally necessary responsibilities on this boy-who-wasn't-a-  
boy.  
  
And then Van looked up as if startled by a strange, private noise.  
He leaned back in the unbending wooden chair and tilted his head  
slightly like he was listening to something, smiling a small, alien  
smile and staring unfocused at some lovely spot in infinity. Van looked  
peaceful, not just trapped in his normal iron-focused calm.   
  
He turned back to Perione and shook his head softly, still far  
away. "No, its all right. She'll always understand if I give her an  
explanation and you had nothing to do with it anyway. Just if it  
happens again have it looked into. If there's nothing else to say, you  
can go... I mean, you're dismissed."  
  
Those very close to Van were familiar with his habit of gazing  
off at the far walls of the room, usually when he was upset or angry  
although sometimes just at random, and losing himself in some  
personal, hazy fulfillment. There had been a few small meetings of  
which Van would never be made aware about this momentary  
disorientation. The spells had started shortly after the war, and it had  
been decided that they stemmed from mild post-traumatic syndrome  
and that they weren't worth the worry. Van was proving himself to be  
a more than competent ruler and it could threaten the entire system of  
monarchy in Fanelia if, at that delicate point in history, the king was  
thought to be insane or simple or both. Besides, royalty was known  
for its eccentricities and Van's was quite innocuous compared to some.  
  
Perione was among the perhaps five people in all of Gaea to  
have seen these spells and even he thought they were fairly mundane.  
He stood quiet and still until Van focused on him again when he  
said. "Van-sama, I haven't gotten to the important news yet."  
  
"What is it? I think that's the sixth time I've asked that and don't  
make me do it again."  
  
Perione puffed himself up with the pride of being responsible for  
good tidings. "The pending prince of Asturia and his sister will arrive  
at Fanelia tomorrow afternoon!"  
  
Van stared hard, opened his mouth, thought better of what he  
planned to say and closed it again, then took a long, deep breath.  
"Perione. Remember our discussions about telling me _very_  
important news as soon as possible after you hear it yourself?"  
  
"Yes, Van-sama. Next time I'll be sure to tell you right away."   
  
They both knew it was a hopeless cause. Perione was a good  
advisor, had become an advisor, because he found all knowledge  
about the inner mechanics of things infinitely fascinating. He  
collected it like a magpie collects trash, not for its inherent worth but  
for the shine and could not conceive how Van differentiated between  
important and trivial information.  
  
"They're coming tomorrow," Van thought aloud. "When did  
you find out about this?"  
  
"Just a few hours ago, Van-sama."  
  
Van sank back in his chair and folded his arms, thinking out loud.  
"They must be taking the Crusade then. Whatever they're coming  
about must be fairly urgent if they need to get here this soon."  
  
"But it will still be nice to see Alan-san and Celena-san, in any  
case, right?" Perione asked hopefully.  
  
"Yeah," Van blinked, counting back the months. "I haven't  
seen them in a while. Have a banquet prepared for dinner tomorrow.  
No, banquet's not the right word, is it? Just make sure there's lots of  
food."  
  
"Of course, Van-sama."  
  
"Oh," Van sat up slightly. "And make sure there are lots of  
vegetables. As many vegetables as possible."  
  
Perione looked confused. "I was led to understand that Celena-  
san is allergic to most vegetables."  
  
Van smirked. "She is. She turns bright red and her face puffs  
up. Especially green ones. Make sure there are lots of those."  
  
Perione looked down the length of his nose, disapproving but  
hesitant to show it in front of authority.  
  
"It's only teasing," Van said defensively when he noticed. "Celena'll  
think it's funny and if she doesn't she'll get revenge somehow and then  
we'll both forget about it."  
  
Perione paused, debating something internally for a moment before  
he next spoke. "You... enjoy Celena-san's company, do you not?"  
  
Van, who had considered the morning report over and moved  
on to a little paperwork, trying to savor a little indoor-cool before the  
day really began, didn't bother looking up. "You would know if  
I didn't."  
  
"That's true," Perione conceded. "She is an attractive woman, isn't  
she?"  
  
"She's a Shezar," Van pointed out as if it was a full explanation,  
which in many ways it was.  
  
"Yes. They are quite an influential family in Asturia, especially with  
the upcoming marriage. Your... friendship is quite... symbolic, don't  
you agree?"  
  
Van flicked his gaze upwards and said, not unkindly, "Do you  
plan to get to the point anytime soon?"  
  
"Well, Van-sama," Perione steeled himself, as if expecting to  
get kicked. "It's only that you _will_ need an heir eventually and  
Fanelia would like a queen, especially someone as genteel and  
attractive as Celena-san..."  
  
Van looked at him in with complete incomprehension as if he didn't  
understand the language. Then, his eyes widening almost  
imperceptibly in understanding, he put down his quill carefully, blinked  
and acted genuinely amused for the first time in at least six months.  
  
"Marry _Celena_!" he crowed, shoulders shaking with silent  
laughter. It was always silent laughter and no tears of any kind.   
  
"I'm sorry, Perione," he said with a little closure sigh. "But the  
day Celena and I agree to marry each other will be the day... well,  
there won't be one. We're not... like that."  
  
Perione, personally wounded by most laughter, drew himself up  
with full dignity and said with more candor than he originally intended,  
"Still, Van-sama, Fanelia needs an heir and you are in the... full bloom  
of your youth, so to speak, and the kingdom is under control and  
prospering. It is a good time to start thinking of marriage."  
  
"I have at least twenty years to produce an heir," Van said, clear  
and cold. His shoulders were knotted and his hand crept up to hold his  
pendant tightly, to keep it secure.  
  
"Ye-es," Perione agreed cautiously. "But, it's always best to plan  
ahead and if something were to happen to you--"  
  
"I don't want to discuss it." Van was angry; a red irrational anger,  
which after developing the emotionlessness of good negotiating with  
the reluctant but dogged determination he showed as a child learning  
how to improve his fighting by channeling his anger, surprised them  
both. "If you have nothing left to say, you should leave."  
  
Perione, strangely and perhaps showing the depth of his  
convictions, stayed. "It is unlike you to be this selfish, Van-sama."  
  
Van stood halfway out of his seat, slamming down a hand on  
the table and clutching his pendent so tightly the other had turned  
white and now was slowly turning red. "I'm not being selfish! How  
can you dare accuse me of being selfish!" His face was contorted,  
almost snarling. Perione had known the king only after Fanelia  
had been mostly repaired. This was the first time he could believe  
Van was as capable of destroying as he was of creating; that  
Van was someone deserving of fear.  
  
Van put his hands on the table, resting his weight on it and  
bowing his head until its only visible feature was the all-defining  
blackness of his hair. "I'm not being selfish," he repeated, calmer now,  
but thick with sorrow. "You just don't understand. You can't  
understand how selfish I'm not being. If you don't leave this room  
now without another word, I'll exile you."  
  
They both knew Perione was incapable of calling a bluff, but  
he stayed for a fraction of a second to watch his king with the  
horrified fascination usually reserved airship accidents.  
  
"I'll cut off your legs," Van added, voice dead. "Myself."  
  
Perione left. Van focused on breathing deliberately and deeply for  
over a minute before he felt in control of himself. He had forgotten  
how easy it was to be cruel, how exacting it was to show kindness to  
the undeserving. The memory was too painful to keep. Did Dornkirk  
begin with an honest wish to help everyone before his sympathy  
dwindled to those he thought appreciated it and then only to those he  
could control? He hadn't meant to yell. He didn't quite understand  
what he had been yelling about but there was a small hard core of  
resentment at things denied in his speech. It embarrassed him.  
  
Hitomi thought they were making sacrifices and that Van was  
making acute ones, by the measure of his exhaustion and his  
loneliness. He sat back down, fingering the pendant lightly, accepting  
solace and offering the same to a person he always felt but never  
touched.  
  
*****  
  
If spring sings of rebirth, summer is a melody bright with  
second chances. The next day Van had written a formal letter of  
apology to Perione, who had accepted, before waiting in an empty  
field just outside of Fanelia, scanning the sky for an airship. He  
brought a few retainers and his sword to maintain the degree of  
ceremony needed to keep Allen from being insulted but he  
was relaxed, expecting friends and not diplomats.  
  
The airship, nimble and elegant as Van remembered, skimmed  
over the mountain range and landed delicately in the airfield shortly  
after midday. The hatch opened with a small hiss of steam, and Allen  
appeared in full, formal uniform, hair gleaming with sun and floating  
behind him like a separate being as he knelt at Van's feet before rising  
and taking the king's hand in both of his own.  
  
Allen's smile was as potent as always, the rest of the world faded  
into a background of its warmth, and his voice was still rich and  
gentle. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Van."   
  
Van tried to smile back as they shook hands, knowing how flat it  
was in comparison. Since the war-- since the last day of the war, really  
--Allen had been nothing if not kind and understanding and eager to  
help with any task he could, and there was no greater proof he hadn't  
forgiven Van yet. Allen still respected him, even liked him, but the  
knowledge of what they could do to each other when their inhibitions  
melted was always strung taunt between them. Still this was Allen, a  
man who had accepted him immediately, fought by his side, saved his  
life, even betrayed his country for Van's cause. Van trusted him  
implicitly.   
  
"It's been a long time," he said.  
  
"Too long, but you're always so busy..."  
  
"Still, you can always consider yourself welcome in Fanelia.  
How's the wedding coming?"  
  
Before Allen could go into an extended account of guests and  
choosing priests and caterers with the enthusiasm of most engaged  
couples and newborn parents, who believed the world found the  
newness in their lives as fascinating as they did, a lyrical whine  
threaded its way out of the airship. "Gade-eth, they're not even doing  
anything formal I would get it in the way of, which is a very insulting  
suggestion in itself, I'll have you know, and Allen's going to regale  
him with _wedding_ stories. You can't dislike Van enough to do  
something like that to him."  
  
"Well, Celena..."  
  
"Please? Don't force me to stomp on your feet, Gadeth, neither of  
us would enjoy it."  
  
Allen rubbed his temples lightly, his strain only evident to those  
who knew him well.  
  
The hatch opened again, suddenly and with a pop, and a blur of  
white and blue and grey bolted out before Gadeth had time to close  
it. Celena, in small white slippers and a grey and white lace-trimmed  
dress, her hair tied back with a dawn-blue ribbon, yanked up her skirt  
as much as was seemly, nearly tripped over herself on the small steps  
and dashed across the field to give Van a quick, tight hug.  
  
"Thank goodness," she said with composure, releasing him. "I  
thought Gadeth was never going to let me off that thing. Sorry about  
that, Gadeth," she called over her shoulder, to be answered by a  
vague, amused snort from the airship.  
  
"Hi, Celena. You missed me?" Van asked dryly.  
  
"Did I miss you?" She clasped her hands over her heart, swooning  
a few steps backwards. "Oh, my darling Van, since we last spoke I  
could only think of your sweet face, your eyes, your voice, your, um,  
unkempt, silly-looking spiky hair."  
  
Van took her hand in his own, staring deeply into her blue-glass  
eyes. "And I could only think of your smile and your loud, obnoxious  
mouth."  
  
Celena sighed, turning away suddenly. "Roses had lost their  
sweetness for me, the sky had no luster, the stars had no sheen..."  
  
"The moon was just a big flat white circular... thing... in the sky.  
Yes, I know that despair," Van finished. Celena collapsed into laughter  
while her brother sighed laboriously behind her.  
  
"I win," Van said, placid but smug.  
  
She turned around with a little stomp of her foot, trying to raise  
some indignation. "One of these days I _will_ outlast you, Van Fanel."  
She smiled her brother's sweet smile but without his awareness of its  
charm, straightening Van's shirt with absentminded concern."How  
have you been?"  
  
Van shrugged. "All right."  
  
Celena looked up at him skeptically but didn't dispute the claim,  
although Van knew she would probably bully him into details when  
they were alone. He couldn't remember when they had settled into  
an uncomfortable truce in favor of completely ignoring each other's  
existence, or when that truce had bloomed into a genuine and valued  
friendship. He was only supremely grateful that it had. Celena was the  
one person who treated him playfully, one of the few who had ever  
tried. Hitomi would have if he had let her, if he could have recognized  
whimsy as a form of kindness back then.   
  
Celena must have seen him looking lost and firmly pinched his arm.  
"Oi, Van, snap out of it. You've got diplomatic visitors and we might  
declare war if you ignore us."  
  
"Are you two quite finished yet?" Allen asked testily. "If I must  
remind you, Celena-chan, we came for an actual diplomatic visit, not  
just to make inane conversation."  
  
Celena rolled her delicate eyes, privately mouthing, 'hair troubles.'  
For someone who looked like a porcelain model of herself, she had a  
very odd mind. She didn't have Dilandau's twisted, uncontrolled  
malice, nothing like that. Celena was just intelligent and not afraid to  
point out when other people were not. She approved of Van's direct  
bite and focus and he of hers.  
  
"Did anyone say anything amusing?" Allen asked, correctly  
suspicious of their snickering.  
  
Celena waved her hand in a broad, vaguely reassuring gesture  
before linking her arms in each of theirs as they started walking  
toward Fanelia. "Oh, nothing at all, Allen darling, nothing at all."  
  
"So this is a diplomatic mission then, Allen?" Van asked over her  
head.  
  
Allen only shook his head. "There's a time and a place for  
everything, Van. We'll talk after dinner." Van was strangely torn  
between relief and annoyance that Allen refused to take his request as  
unquestionable command.  
  
"Is there a carriage or something coming to pick us up?" Celena  
asked abruptly.  
  
"No." Van squinted at her. "We walked up here. I expected you  
two wouldn't mind walking down."  
  
"Van," Allen said, gently reproving as if to a small child. "You  
must remember that Celena is not as strong as we are. She is too frail  
to make such a hike comfortably."  
  
"Yes," Celena agreed solemnly. "Very frail. Unable to take a good  
twenty paces without fainting. Weak as something very, very weak."  
  
"You're overdoing it," Van told her under his breath.  
  
She shrugged, whispering, "Oniisama... sometimes he's, well...  
purposefully dense. I think he believes that I really need that kind of  
coddling"  
  
"In case I must remind you, Celena-chan," Allen said, admirably  
unruffled. "You did fall down the stairs three weeks ago and stayed  
unconscious for a good hour and a half. That's not a sign of physical  
prowess."  
  
"You fell down the stairs?" Van asked, concerned.  
  
Celena, cursed with honest, pale skin, blushed crimson but didn't  
say anything.  
  
"Maybe we should call a carriage," Van decided, calling over an  
attendant. While he was so occupied, Celena stamped her foot and  
glared at her brother.  
  
"I asked you to keep that a secret!"  
  
Allen fingered a section of her hair, his face a mask of tender worry.  
"I won't hide it if you need help. I promised you, Celena--"  
  
"That you would take care of me," she finished for him. "And  
you have and I love you dearly, but I'm not a child, Oniisama."  
  
"Then stop crying to me every time Van teases you," Allen said  
mildly, walking toward the carriage.  
  
*****  
  
Allen and Celena had been shown to their rooms without incident  
and Allen currently was supervising the unpacking of their things.  
From the brief glimpse he had, they didn't bring much clothing, which  
concerned Van on several levels.   
  
Morally exempt from real work by the obligation to entertain  
guests, he took Celena on a tour of the garden which she could  
navigate perfectly well herself, by now. She sat on a swing, talking to  
Van, who leaned against the tree it was attached to.  
  
"So, how are you really? I warn you, if you tell me you're alright  
again I'll blackmail you in someway. You've never just been alright in  
your life." That felt true although, like many things Celena said, it was  
a muddy, niggling piece of honesty.  
  
"Tired," Van admitted, hiding his eyes under his bangs. "Really  
tired."   
  
Celena knew the rivers of Van's mind and she heard the shame  
deep in that answer. "Of course you're tired. You work harder than  
anyone I've ever met."  
  
Van shrugged. "Not really. You get used to what you always have  
to do and that's alright, but then new things are always coming."  
  
"What new things?"  
  
"You Shezars, for one thing," Van sat down, crossing his legs.  
"Do you know what Allen's worried about enough to come to me?"  
  
She shook her head. "No. He asked if I wanted to come see you,  
but he wouldn't tell me why he wanted to go in the first place, no  
matter how much I asked. I couldn't even get it out of Eries. He must  
have told her not to say anything." She scowled. "The dork."  
  
"He looks tired."  
  
"He is. The wedding preparations are pretty stressful. Marrying a  
princess takes work."  
  
Van looked at her. "That's right. You'll be the king's sister. Will  
they make you a duchess or something?"  
  
Celena laughed. "Can you imagine? It would be hilarious. I think  
they actually might since Oniisama's been hinting about my marriage  
offers getting a boost."  
  
"They _need_ a boost?" Van asked incredulously. "Haven't you  
have six or something?"  
  
"Eleven," she corrected. "Since the last time we've met." Celena  
kicked the loose dirt off the ground. "They were all gits. I know  
Allen's a little annoyed that I'm not happily settled yet, but I _won't_  
marry any man who would wear tights."  
  
"You know, Perione actually suggested _we_ should get married,"  
Van said, not really minding that a source of rage had trickled into an  
anecdote.  
  
Celena stopped swinging. "Me marry... you?"  
  
"Yup."  
  
"That's... that's...," she wrinkled her nose, trying to think of an apt  
description. "I really want to say sickeningly wrong, but I don't want  
to offend you."  
  
"It's okay. That was pretty much what I said."  
  
"I mean, you're a prime catch and everything but you're... Van."  
  
"I know what you mean."  
  
"Besides," she added, starting the swing again. "You're too skinny  
for me."  
  
Van leaned his head back, face to the sun. "He does have a point,  
though."  
  
She stopped again. "Oh?"  
  
Van toyed with his pendant absently. "Fanelia needs an heir who's  
old enough to rule when I die. I don't want him to go through... It  
would be better if he was ready to take the throne when the time  
came."  
  
Celena looked down at him, the loose stands of hair which had  
escaped her ponytail framing her face. "Well..." she said finally,  
cautiously. "You could get married if you really needed to."  
  
He didn't answer, just stared at the ground, a portrait in repose.  
Allen had told her that Van used to... shut down like this often when  
they first met. He wouldn't move, wouldn't speak for sometimes hours,  
face dark and struggling to keep itself blank. Allen had said it was  
understandable, considering how his high sense of duty must have  
scorned anguish, that Van would only allow himself to mourn silently  
and efficiently. But he shouldn't need to do this now, long after  
everything had been set right. He had won. Van had won so much  
more than anyone thought he was capable of and he had kept winning  
long after everyone else forgot there were things left to be achieved.  
He should be happy now. But a great gain is not necessarily the whole  
gain or even the gain truly desired.   
  
Van's eyes were screwed up tightly, his fists clenched. His position  
could be mistaken for one of prayer. Celena couldn't bear this  
stoicism.  
  
"I'm sorry," she tried gently. "I'm... so sorry she was taken away  
from you."  
  
"She wasn't taken," Van said. His position hadn't changed so  
Celena could not see his mouth and his voice sounded disembodied. A  
graveyard voice. "She... We decided she should leave. I _helped_ her  
leave. She had too much influence on Gaea and I think... she was  
worried that I wanted to protect her too much. I didn't just know any  
other way to show... I was so _stupid_."  
  
Celena sat beside him, putting a gentle hand on his arm. "You were  
a kid. You only did what you had to do."  
  
Van looked up at her then and his face was terrible because it was  
not crying. He stared down at his knees drawn to his chest. Van  
looked so tired. It wasn't exhaustion or anything physical. Van had  
won and he knew he had won and now he wanted an end.  
  
"We thought it would be alright," he said, although he wasn't  
talking to Celena or to even whatever part of Hitomi he communicated  
with. "We knew it would be hard to be apart after we had just really  
found each other but we thought we would be able to... I guess we  
thought we would be able to actually talk or see each other, but I  
didn't know what it would feel like to be constantly reminded of her  
and not able to be near her, really. I can feel her. I know if she's sad or  
happy or lonely but I don't know why. I can't... see."  
  
"I thought you said she... comforted you or gave you advice...  
or something." Celena felt horrible for asking, for even wanting to  
know.  
  
But it seemed to help in some small way, as Van collected himself  
to think of an answer. "She's better at it that me. She knows more."  
  
"Is... is she... helping you now?"  
  
Van shook his head. "She wants to, but I made her sad. I shouldn't  
make her sad. She doesn't know what to do either about an heir and  
she doesn't really want to think about... the details involved. It's  
stuck."  
  
"You could always adopt."  
  
Van stared at her. She stared back, expression smoothed blank.  
Van smiled, a weak, wry little thing, but Celena could count the times  
she had seen Van smile with real joy on one hand. Resting his forehead  
on his knee, he said, "I think Hitomi's a little jealous now. She's  
denying it. Yes, she's definitely jealous. But she hopes I'll tell you it's  
not in a romantic way, she just wishes she could be in your place to  
cheer me instead."  
  
"It seems to me you guys can communicate pretty well."  
  
Van stared off, fixated on something in the nothingness. "It's  
not that clear, usually." They stayed like that, side by side and  
unmoving, until Van finally sat up poker straight. "I'm... Celena, you  
shouldn't have to listen to me..."  
  
"Yes, I should. I'm your friend. And I know about two people in  
one body as much as anyone can." She trailed off in a bare whisper.  
Van's expression turned stony.  
  
"You're not who he was," he insisted obstinately.  
  
"I still dream about him sometimes," she confessed. They never  
talked about this. Dilandau's was a death never mourned. Still, it  
seemed to be a day of revelations, and the little hot white bubbles of  
someone else's memory threatened to drive her mad. "About what he  
did and how horrifying it was and how he felt... he was miserable. He  
craved perfection and the only true perfection was in that  
destruction... but sometimes it felt so awful too... and he despised  
what he was, really, deep down."  
  
Van's eyes were flat. "You can't expect me to forgive him."  
  
Celena shook her head. "I'm not asking you to forgive him, but  
I can't help knowing who he was. It's dinner."  
  
"What?"  
  
She gestured with her head. "Dinner. Last meal of the day. It's  
almost time for it to start. We should probably be there or Allen will  
think dirty things and try to kill you in defense of my honor." She  
stood up, reaching out for him. "Come on."  
  
And he took her hand.  
  
*****  
  
After they ate Van went to Allen's room to get him because  
diplomacy should not be conducted anonymously. He knocked lightly  
on Celena's door on the way back. "Goodnight, Celena, sweet dreams  
and I'll see you in the morning."  
  
There was a muffled screech of, "I'll _kill_ you in the morning,  
you bastard!"  
  
"Now, Celena-chan," Allen said gently. "Be rational for a  
minute."  
  
"Rational? He had greens put even in the _bread_! He could have  
killed me! Now I'm starving because I would have been _violently ill _  
for _weeks_ if I ate dinner!"  
  
"Well, we can have always have the kitchen bring you something  
on a tray," Allen suggested, trying to smooth thing out.  
  
Van added, "We've got plenty of leftovers."  
  
"I'll take Sherezarde and crush him like an ant!"  
  
"Van didn't mean that," Allen said hastily, shooting him a silent  
warning. "And please don't joke about Sherezarde that way."  
  
Celena sulkily said a string of rude words about her brother's  
apparent familial and sexual preference. Allen blushed a bit in her  
stead. "Celena!"  
  
"Sleep well, Celena." Van turned and continued down the corridor.  
Allen blurted out a formality of his own and hastened to keep pace.  
  
Van loathed closed little rooms where kings bargained with their  
stench of smoke and vinu and their constant, purposeful darkness.  
Mostly, he hated what they symbolized; that decisions that affecting  
entire countries could be made by two old men in tiny rooms. Van  
tried not to have private meetings as a principle, but if he had no  
choice he conducted them on his balcony. Outdoors where there were  
no shadows things were harder to distort.  
  
Allen made a trivial complement about the view and sat down on  
one of the solidly cushioned outdoor chairs. Van walked to the edge,  
resting his elbows on the railing and staring at the jagged line of  
mountains, which were not darker than the sky so much as they lacked  
its shading.   
  
"I don't understand how you do it," Allen was saying.  
  
"Do what?"  
  
"Tease Celena without out a hint of tact, yet manage to finesse  
entire countries. How you can finesse in the first place, when you  
sometimes have trouble stringing three cordial words together."  
  
"They're not all that different," Van told him, mildly surprised that  
he didn't already understand. "You just need to know people and how  
they'll react to things and then work with what they react to the most  
strongly. You're trying to do that now by appealing to my vanity  
although its probably just force of habit. You should know that I don't  
care about that by now. Just tell me what you want."  
  
Allen nodded, lacing his gloved fingers together. "Van, I... Asturia  
has a request for you."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
Allen wished he would turn around, display readable body  
language. Van had always talked with his face and arms more readily  
and more truthfully than he could with words. Allen was on unsteady  
footing if he could not see Van's reactions, which he conceded was  
probably the point. "Daedalian bandits have been raiding Asturian  
villages near the border for month. We have reasonable suspicion that  
these are government ordered attacks, and they are moving further  
inland by the week."  
  
"Okay."  
  
Allen waited, then tried to explain further to cover the continuing  
silence. "We have sent delegates, of course, to talk to the king. I have  
even gone myself. He claims he has sent his soldiers, but he cannot  
control the bandits in his country..." Allen shook his head. "But the  
last delegate sent has not returned in three months, and I can feel it in  
my bones that these are intentional provocations."  
  
Van rested his chin on his folded arms. "Do you know what  
they could be trying to do?"  
  
"That's the frustrating part. Daedalus is as wealthy if not wealthier  
than Asturia and our two countries have always stood on friendly  
terms. I can't understand this sudden aggression."  
  
"If you can't understand it, maybe it _is_ just bandit attacks," Van  
suggested.  
  
"No, Van. I've spoken to most of the heads of their state and they  
barely tried to hide their knowledge on matters about this situation  
that they should not know. Besides, I trust my instincts."  
  
Van again said nothing. The moons had drifted further behind the  
castle since when they first came out, and his outline was  
ever-blending into the night.  
  
"Anything you have to say at this point would be helpful," Allen  
said, his tone deliberately light.  
  
Van straightened slowly, cracking his spine. "If I have to say  
something... you have my sympathies, I guess."  
  
"Although I appreciate the sentiment, I didn't come here for your  
sympathies, Van."  
  
"What do you expect me to do about it?" Van said, a little  
petulantly. "It's an Asturian affair. You know how to fight off a few  
thieves, no matter who sent them. Fanelia doesn't even border  
Daedalus."  
  
Allen stood, trying to at least physically balance the power here.  
"Van, you couldn't have possibly fooled yourself into thinking you're  
the king of Fanelia alone."  
  
Van snapped his head around, surprised. Allen pressed on. "Fifteen  
people have died so far and more than forty houses have been  
destroyed. This is probably the worst conflict on Gaea since we settled  
into the alliance. Do you want all that work to go to waste? Do you  
want people to suffer because you couldn't be bothered?"  
  
Van bowed his head, mouth twitching. "You're a fast learner,  
Allen."  
  
"So will you go to Daedalus for an official conference with  
me?"  
  
Van raked his fingers through his hair with a nearly inaudible sigh.  
"I wo... I can't spend the rest of my life hopping from country to  
country to smooth every little skirmish. It'd be harmful in the long-run,  
and my priorities will always be in Fanelia."  
  
"I know. I wouldn't even approach you about it, except, this peace  
is still new and... unusual. I think this violence is simply an expression  
of disapproval of the terms of the alliance. Most of the nobility still,  
well..."  
  
"Think the whole thing's a stupid idea and having to be on the same  
economic level as the rest of the _aristocrats_ even is a direct affront  
to their sensibilities," Van finished for him. "That's an easy one. Just a  
few vague threats of a peasant uprising or another war and hint that  
bleeding to death from a pitchfork or dissolving in a ball of light is  
probably a worse fate than having to wear the same dress twice in a  
month, and they shut up."  
  
"Not impressed by your opposition, I gather."   
  
"Not most of it." Van's eyes glimmered faintly for an instant,  
reflecting the cool trembling light of the stars. The solid, gentle  
assurance of his voice coupled with his thin, hard, beautifully  
disturbing body was helplessly fascinating. Allen understood how the  
thousands dirtied and stained by the war would willingly follow this  
beacon through his uncharted worlds.  
  
" I've heard every single reason why this system won't work," Van  
continued. "And I only agree with one of them."  
  
"Hm?"  
  
Van picked at some of the dirt eternally ground into the lines of his  
palm. "People are selfish. Selfish, greedy and cruel. They think  
I'm too young to know that."  
  
Van must be in some strange introspective mood. Allen had never  
heard him talk about his philosophy-- Van barely acknowledged he  
had a philosophy when he wasn't fighting for it like a blood-crazed  
wolf. It was similar to his pretensions of ignorance whenever the  
extent of his influence and power was discussed.   
  
"So what do you propose to do about that? You can't just cut the  
selfishness out of people." Allen wanted to grab his words and scrub  
the oily slyness on their corners clean. He wasn't trying to manipulate  
Van or pervert his trust, only wanted to learn what this bruised,  
sad-eyed man, whose friendship he had won only grudgingly when he  
was a angry, fatally gentle boy, thought about the true nature of  
human kindness.  
  
"No, it doesn't go away," Van agreed, sourly regretful, as if  
the real point was to change that. "And you can't ignore it. A dam  
lasts only so long before it bursts and it takes years for the river to  
calm again." He picked a leaf off one of the trees framing the balcony  
and shredded it absently.  
  
"But if you dig runoffs for the excess water, channel it out, the  
river won't change depth and it can flow on course for much, much  
longer. And sometimes, if you're lucky or if you're careful, the runoff  
can even nurture the land."  
  
"So you're attempting to control negative emotions," Allen  
surmised, faintly wondering when Van had started speaking in  
metaphors.  
  
He nodded. "In a few months you won't have many excuse if  
you can't make things better either and being not quite sure of what  
you're doing isn't an acceptable one. Which is why I'm going with  
you on your damn diplomatic mission."  
  
He dropped the pieces of leaf over the railing, and they both  
watched the thick summer wind stir them into a long chaotic flight  
before finally letting them rest on the ground.  
  
*****  
  
it worked.  
  
yes, so far. the true challenge is still to come.  
  
worried?  
  
it would be insane not too. don't have the brunt  
of the load though.  
  
it will go according to plan, assuredly.  
  
probably right. so much at stake though.  
  
been waiting too long to fail now.  
  
yes. just don't forget about the girl. don't  
be overconfident.  
  
of course.  
  
placating.  
  
only a human. what can she do?  
  
human behavior has resulted into the reason we're doing this. never   
forget what they can do.  
  
*****  
  
Van woke on a bed he did not know in a room he could not see,  
drops of sweat stinging his eyes as he sat up, gasping for air. For a  
time he was simply panicked until a reasonable worm of thought  
reminded him that although this was the expected and diagnostic  
behavior of a person waking from a nightmare he had not had one in  
over six years and that had been only a purposeless and vivid dream.  
Besides, Van had never cried out or bolted upright out of terror, even  
when he was young enough to be truly afraid of dreams. Sudden  
movement and noise could give you away, and Balgus had always  
been a firm believer of saving fear for loftier purposes.   
  
So he closed his eyes and focused on his breath and heartbeat until  
it stopped pounding in his ears. Calm again, he crawled out from  
underneath the blanket to sit at the foot of the bed and make sense of  
all this.  
  
The room was black, although Van couldn't tell if that was simply  
due to an absence of light or if this was dream blackness filled with  
inky depths and nameless demons. He crossed his legs beneath him  
and waited to see if his eyes adjusted to the light, if there was any light  
to adjust to. He leaned back against the footboard, frowning slightly at  
the overstuffed mattress on the bed.  
  
The word bed hung in white before his eyes, where he was tempted  
to touch it, then winked out. The bed, the fact a bed existed here,  
seemed to be a vital hint of something. Fanelia did not have beds, or at  
least these obsequious, overdone beds, which were considered a sign  
of wealth used unwisely. Van had slept on pallets, on futons, on the  
ground, all his life as was only sensible. These mattress-and-pillow  
beds were only popular in Asturia, where the gild was considered  
more precious than the gold. Spending eight dark hours attempting to  
sleep on one was one of the little sacrifices Van was always forced to  
make while traveling in other countries. This must be a dream because  
there were no beds in the palace, but he was not in complete control of  
the dream as mattresses did not take up an important section of his  
subconscious. Of course, that he was rationally debating whether this  
was a dream at all probably meant it wasn't.  
  
There was a sweet, haunting whistle of a folk-song long forgotten  
except by the impatient hum in the chest, which resonates with the  
passion and longing of all songs that don't need words.   
  
And perhaps this was not a dream but Van knew that it could not  
be real. Folken's thoughts and dreams and songs only quivered  
something deep in his soul because Folken had been responsible for  
them, and Folken's death had physically pierced into a deeper place  
than any of the guymelefs he had been fighting at the time.  
  
The song still played, each note precise and clean. Van could  
imagine them floating towards him in a single line, sparkling like gems,  
their colors infinitely varied. It was a slow song, a sad song that might  
have been cheerful once, somehow.   
  
He put his feet down on what surprisingly, considering the  
off-tilted design of the rest of this place, turned out to be a simple,  
plank hardwood floor, and padded out of the room.  
  
The next room was too bright compared to the room with the bed,  
all smooth white surfaces and sunlight slanting through the windows.  
There was furniture of varying sizes and textures scattered all over but  
all if it  
was rectangular and strange. Van was only able to recognize a table  
and two chairs tucked into the corner of the room. The room radiated  
ease in its uniformity, as if this was the only way such things could be  
done, and the soft earthiness of Folken's clothes and skin felt  
unwelcome in this impossible white.  
  
Folken stood, propping his elbows on a counter and whittling  
something Van couldn't see. His grey-green hair perpetually flopped in  
front of his eyes which must have been irritating when doing precision  
work with a knife, but the song never faltered and the knife never  
slipped.  
  
"A... Anuae," Van's voice cracked, and he suddenly felt very small,  
unsafe and in need of comfort.  
  
Folken looked up from his work and stopped whistling long  
enough to smile his old gently innocent smile. Then he started his  
work again, his forehead slightly wrinkled in concentration, still  
whistling their mother's song with unconscious ease. Van rubbed his  
arms, more for reassurance that something could change in the  
monochrome of this world than out of cold.   
  
"Anuae?" he tried again.  
  
Folken put his knife down and gestured to the table. "Sit down,  
Van."  
  
Van realized how tightly he was hugging himself and murmurs  
from the strict things inside him thought he should stop. "But..."  
  
"Van, you should sit down," Folken's tone was even, sensible and,  
to Van's annoyance, slightly chiding.  
  
Very little else left for him, Van sat in a chair directly perpendicular  
to his brother. He crossed his elbows on the table and tried to look,  
not stern, that would be dressing up in his father's clothes, but  
skeptical and expectant, like a man and a king.  
  
Folken smiled again and shook his head with affectionate but  
pronounced amusement. Van blew out a sigh and leaned back in the  
chair. Folken once again picked up his knife but remained silent. Van  
toyed with the idea of out-waiting this apparition of his brother, teach  
Folken a thing or two, before he saw the futility of it. Folken had  
always been a creature of silence, blending into the edges of quiet no  
matter where he was. Van's signatures were his brashness and his  
ability to storm through old established ways without a damn for  
tradition in his desire to set things right. Van would always regret the  
naive vindictiveness of his boyhood judgements but right now he  
would feel a great deal better if he yelled.  
  
But he didn't and he wouldn't. Somehow, perhaps it was Folken's  
calming presence or the serene whiteness or the sunlight without a  
visible sun, he knew this was not a place for such things.  
  
"Is this a dream?" he asked finally. "I mean... I know it's a dream,  
but is it a normal dream or one of those... vision dreams?"  
  
Folken shook his head. "I don't know. Do you normally dream  
about things like this?"  
  
"I don't dream a lot," he looked around him. "But when I do, its  
usually about things I know. I've never seen this place in my life."  
  
Folken put down the knife and picked up a polishing cloth "But do  
you recognize it?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"You heard me," Folken sat down across from Van, but his hands  
never stopped moving. His two-- Van noticed for the first time--  
graceful, human hands. He thought he might cry, he thought he might  
start laughing, and he desperately wanted to avoid the weakness  
associated with both. He looked up at Folken's face through his bangs,  
childlike and sheepish. Folken reached over to hold Van's hand in both  
of his own, waiting for his brother to collect himself before he  
continued.  
  
"So, do you recognize this place?" he asked again, after a time.  
  
"No," said Van. "And its not like I haven't been exposed to a lot of  
visions and disembodied voices and just don't know what they're like. I  
don't know this house."  
  
"You knew it was a house," Folken pointed out. "No one ever told  
you what kind of building you're in."  
  
"Can I wake up now?" Van asked brusquely. "This has been a long  
dream and I have a lot to do."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"What do you mean why? I'm the king of Fanelia now. It's a lot of  
responsibility. A lot of work."  
  
Folken returned to whatever he was doing. "But you're making a  
lot of that work yourself, aren't you?"  
  
Again Van wanted to yell and hurt and feel better and again he  
didn't because that sort of thing was not done here. "I... but... I'm  
doing my best to carry out your ultimate vision! You don't know  
that?"  
  
Folken shook his head again. "You know I'm not really  
Folken. I'm just a representation of some of the things he meant to  
you."  
  
Van blinked hard. "I... guessed."  
  
Folken stood up and walked over to stroke his hair. Van let him.  
He wished he was surprised at his display of passivity but it had been  
too long a day to pretend. "You'll wake up soon, Van. Take this  
before you do." He held out his carving. It was a land dragon,  
thrusting out his chest just before the flame. Van took it gingerly,  
turning it over in his hands.  
  
"You're a dragon, Van," Folken said gently, so very gently. "Yet  
you slay them."  
  
"No one else knows how to do it better." Van's voice was hoarse.  
  
"But you kill them because you can understand them, ne?" Van  
started to protest, but Folken interrupted him before he could find a  
line of thought. "Because you remember when you were nothing a  
shell for your rage, how the bloodlust rang through you and death was  
the only gift you thought you could give. And now you are ashamed  
of those feelings and want to make amends for them, but you suspect  
nothing you can do will ever be enough. You have saved the soul of  
an entire world, Van. That isn't of equal value to the actions of a  
scared, lonely child with too great a responsibility and too many  
enemies and who was confused about every single aspect of his life?  
You had been taught to respond to anything negative with violence.  
How should you have reacted to the destruction of your country less  
than five minutes after you were given responsibility for it?"  
  
Van said nothing.  
  
"And the person who burned your kingdom to ashes is now one of  
your closest friends--"  
  
"Celena wasn't responsible for what Dilandau did," Van protested,  
grasping for a response he knew how to give.  
  
Folken smiled again, sadly now, as if the point was not one he  
wanted to prove. "And you know that because you let yourself forgive  
her and what she represented. I know you suspect its only because you  
wanted to show you could make peace, but you saw her when she was  
lost and sad and your immediate reaction was to offer comfort. Do  
you think many people are that generous?"  
  
"Well, they should be," Van said, almost sulking.  
  
"Well, they aren't," Folken's voice rose a degree, before he calmed  
again. "I claimed loyalty to Zaibach because I could see what an  
unusual, beautiful soul you had and I wanted to protect you from the  
devastations of war. But I was foolish, and I ending up causing you as  
much pain as was in my power to cause you. It's a pattern in your life,  
isn't it? Those that love you most and want the best for you come the  
closest to destroying you."  
  
Van... hurt. Trying to organize this anguish would only amplify it  
so he simply hurt.   
  
"Why are you telling me this?" he said, taunt as a wire. "Do you  
think you're helping me?"  
  
"For whatever reason, you claimed personal responsibility for Gaea  
and you must stand by that claim. If you resent this obligation, as you  
are beginning to, you can only create harm. If you must be a dragon  
slayer, please be a merciful one." Folken closed Van's hand firmly  
around the carving before stepping back. "Hitomi is a dragon tamer."  
  
"Hitomi isn't here anymore." Van answered icily.  
  
"Recognize this place, Van," Folken said again, and Van was  
awake and breathing hard in his dark, hot room. Tiny wooden scales  
cut into his palm.  
  
End Part 1  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Part 2: Where Dragons Thrive

  
******************************************  
The Vision of Escaflowne: A Return to Gaea  
******************************************  
  
Part Two: Where Dragons Thrive  
  
  
She walks in beauty, like the night  
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;  
And all that's best of dark and bright  
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:  
Thus mellowed to that tender light  
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.  
Lord Byron  
  
****  
  
  
It had been years since she learned to remain publically  
pleasant and calm when her mind wheeled, sparking and screaming,  
with one of Van's profoundly cutting swings of mood. Still, perhaps  
because it came unexpectedly or she had been absorbed with the dry  
rationality of research or because Van was hysterically confused and  
disoriented himself, Hitomi swayed on her feet and dropped a  
reference book about Borderline Personality Disorder on the carpet  
with a lump of a thud. Her body felt rubbery and disjointed, and she  
leaned back on a table behind her for support, slumping to her knees.  
  
Uirichi was an immediate, blurred presence by her side, trying  
to check her vitals. "Hitomi? Hitomi, do you feel faint? Do you have a  
history of migraines or anemia in your family? Allergies?"  
  
Hitomi bent her neck in a delicate curve; unable to control the  
panic darting in her eyes, she could only try to hide it. She stayed on  
the floor where there was some degree of safety, tense and panting,  
until Van started to drive back the snakes in his mind. Hitomi could almost see his eyes  
close and his body constrict as he concentrated on only each thick,  
uncertain breath.   
  
Uirichi was shaking her now, hard. Suddenly Hitomi had never  
been so furious, inflamed by the impertinence of this stranger. But  
Uirichi wasn't a stranger, she told herself, brushing the characters with  
broad white strokes on the darkness. Uirichi was her fellow student  
and researcher and he was only trying to help. It was a thin,  
trembling thread of reason but it calmed them both, and Hitomi  
managed a long hitching breath instead of her previous gasps. She sat  
there, breathing, for long minutes; Uirichi's hand a cool, friendly  
pressure on her back.  
  
"You were starting to hyperventilate," he told her gently, after  
a time, helping her sit up. "Do you know what happened?"  
  
"I... I used... to have fainting spells when I was a kid," she  
said, glad that she didn't have to lie. "I thought I grew out of them,  
but..."  
  
"Did you use to see colored lights before you fainted? Did you  
only faint after physical exertion?" Uirichi asked, forehead furrowed  
with the pretentious, earnest compassion of most medical students.  
  
Hitomi shook her head gingerly. "The doctors could never  
explain them. Ano... thank you for your concern, but I think I just felt  
a little dizzy because I didn't have breakfast today."  
  
"Everyone needs food," Uirichi agreed. "Tell you what, I'll  
take you to lunch. My treat."  
  
"Uirichi-san, it's only nine-thirty in the morning."  
  
"Well, the ice-cream parlor down the street opens at ten. We  
can have lunch then." He helped Hitomi to her feet. One of his arms  
was wound tight around her waist and almost lifted her off the ground,  
he was that much taller than she. Uirichi's eyes, so blue they crackled  
purple in certain lights, were gentle, almost pleading. "Please say yes.  
The summer's almost over and I barely know anything about you. I  
want to know more about you, Hitomi."  
  
Feeling the heat spreading from her cheeks, Hitomi could  
imagine how flustered and inexperienced she must look. Van, sensing  
only her embarrassment, was concerned, then disgruntled at her vivid  
streak of guilt. A watermark of, 'just trying to help, huh?' lurked at  
the back of Hitomi's mind until she flashed annoyance that Van was  
the one who set this scene. She saw dark anger and regret common  
of Van-- before the sense of him receded to a subtle awareness of his  
presence in the corner of... of her.   
  
Uirichi was waiting for her answer. Staring into his relaxed,  
empty face, Hitomi was almost appalled at how casually he was  
treating this, treating her. After Gaea and Zaibach and Van, the idea  
that love or the desire for love could be considered a source of  
entertainment was sacrilegious. The candy couples, who wrote each  
other notes on purple paper and celebrated their three week  
anniversaries, compared their feelings to flowers and spring. They  
couldn't conceive of a love whose only metaphor was the ocean. They  
wouldn't understand a mottled-green, fierce, soft love, simultaneously  
boundless and all-enclosing. Flowers and spring are vibrant, but they  
die quickly. The ocean is infinite.  
  
"Milk upsets my stomach, Uirichi-san," she said, peeling his  
fingers off her waist. "I think I'll just ask Tsukawa-sensei if I can go  
home early and rest instead."  
  
Uirichi shriveled, and Hitomi felt awful for being so callus  
before he said, "Oh, don't bother with all that. I can let you go."  
  
She blinked. "Really?"  
  
Uirichi nodded enthusiastically. " I'm your superior, after all.  
I'll just write you a note to let you home for the rest of the day and  
Tsukawa-sensei won't be the wiser."  
  
They both jumped a good foot when Tsukawa Tomoe's purple  
rippling voice behind them said, "Truthful as always, Uirichi-kun. For  
one who is so painfully centered on collecting correct details while  
working, your aptitude for blurring the lines of honesty is quite  
impressive. I never thought it needed to be said, but the senior student  
researcher does not control the working hours of the assistant  
researcher. But..." Uirichi parted for Tsukawa as she glided to Hitomi  
and held her chin, moving the girl's head to check her eyes. "She does  
look quite tired. Go home and rest for today, Hitomi-chan, and sleep  
and eat regularly after this. You college students seem to think you're  
made from synthetic materials. Come, we'll wait for the bus."  
  
She was gone in a whisper of fabric. Anything Hitomi had to  
say would only be swallowed by the vacuum Tsukawa always created  
leaving a room, so she shrugged apologetically with one shoulder at  
Uirichi, gathered her things and followed her sensei out of the  
university library.  
  
  
Tsukawa smiled at the sound of footprints and patted Hitomi's  
shoulder when the girl stopped to stand beside her. "Please let me  
apologize for Uirichi-kun's behavior if it made you uncomfortable. He  
is essentially a sweet boy and a harmless one."  
  
"... I know, Tsukawa-sensei. I wasn't offended or anything."  
Hitomi was always frustrated at her bland, superficial responses to this  
woman, as if she was a foil in a bad play whose only purpose was to  
prevent an excess of monologue.   
  
"You were, Hitomi-chan," Tsukawa refuted, serenely assured.  
"But not in a prudish way. I can barely begin to explain the expression  
on your face. Somewhere between astoundment, condescension and  
sorrow. Occasionally you seem so wise, and amused by the antics of  
your peers. You've experienced great tragedy in your life, haven't  
you, Hitomi?"  
  
It was said that Tsukawa Tomoe had been dissuaded from  
private practice as a student because any condition would only be  
more pronounced after extended exposure to her personality. She  
taught instead, an established expert on abnormal psychology and an  
informal authority on the world at large. She was a brilliantly sadistic  
professor, and her students always whined piously about the workload  
and insulted her under their breath and signed up for at least two of  
her courses every year. Hitomi always believed Tsukawa's true calling  
was the stage, with her egotistically caustic and grandiose charisma.  
The pomp and conviction thrown into everything she did were  
magnetic, hypnotic and exasperating, in that she _was_ devastatingly  
intelligent and beautiful and her conceit was justified.   
  
Hitomi was still bewildered that Tsukawa noticed her in that  
sophomore Advanced Psychology course dense with shining intellects  
let alone saw something in Hitomi that she believed was worth  
cultivating. Tsukawa-sensei poured over Hitomi's papers with an  
intensity usually reserved for defusing bombs, excused her from her  
other classes so she could attend professional conferences, had even  
bought Hitomi flowers at the end of junior year. She had asked Hitomi  
to stay on campus over the summer as a research assistant for her  
latest book about the mental diseases associated with eating disorders.  
Most under-grads were denied the privilege, let alone requested, and it  
never occurred to Hitomi that she could say no.   
  
"You don't have to talk about it," Tsukawa assured her, noting  
Hitomi's nails were nearly embedded in her palm. "You seem well  
adjusted enough, and sometimes talking about scars can only open  
them. But, Hitomi-chan, if you ever need--"  
  
"Thank you, Tsukawa-sensei," said Hitomi quietly.  
  
Tsukawa nodded, already toying with another subject. "Did  
you like fantasy as a kid, Hitomi?"  
  
Hitomi asked carefully, "Do you mean myths?"  
  
Tsukawa clucked a little, disgusted 'tch.' "Japanese fairy tales  
have been excavated for psychological explanations down to the  
molten core. I'm thinking about western concepts of fantasy, swords  
and sorcery, unicorns, dashing knights. An eastern, impartial  
interpretation of Arthurian legends might be informative."  
  
"That's very different from eating disorders."  
  
"The exact point, my dear. But I'll only get the grant if people  
know enough about it to be interested. So, did you like fantasy as a  
child?"  
  
"I... I used to..." Hitomi struggled to say the words, because  
she shouldn't let herself hide from them. "I... fooled around with tarot  
cards for a few years, Tsukawa-sensei."  
  
"Ah, the tarot," Tsukawa said significantly. "An ancient and  
proud art. How does it work exactly?"  
  
Hitomi felt a little smile tug the corners of her mouth. "You're  
never supposed to tell the secrets of the tarot."  
  
"Oh, excuse me. Were you any good at it?"  
  
"It was just playing," Hitomi said evasively, thinking of middle  
school lunch periods when what seemed to be hundreds of bubbly,  
identical girls clamored to have her read their fortunes. Yukari  
eventually was forced to organize lines and lists to prevent absolute  
chaos. Hitomi, always very shy and never before so popular, had been  
dazzled that people wanted her attention and advice. It had felt like  
blooming.  
  
"Mostly," she added, a white feather free-falling through her  
mind.  
  
Tsukawa arched an eyebrow, about to ask more pointed  
questions. The bus came, Hitomi almost leapt aboard, and Tsukawa  
had only time to command her to eat more protein before it drove  
away.  
  
******  
  
Hitomi's apartment was tiny even by the Lilliputian standards  
of a Japanese university, but it was clean, affordable and every inch of  
it belonged to her. She adored it with forgiving, tender pride, like it  
was an old dog.   
  
It was a release to simply walk inside where everything was  
hers and loved and safe. She dropped her bag on an end table that was  
the dinning room and, after drawing the blind and snapping off the  
light, settled on the cot, automatically curling into a caterpillar ball.  
She hadn't really lied to Uirichi about feeling weak. She was tired and  
wrung out, and needed to lie down somewhere soft and familiar so she  
could think.  
  
She reached out to Van, hoping for a reason or consolation.  
He had long calmed down and was too busy with something for more  
than a gentle touch of reassurance. It had been a dream, it was over,  
he had to go now although he felt guilty for being abrupt. They both  
withdrew to the normal sense of connection, a liquid shadow hovering  
on the fringes of thought.  
  
"Maaah," Hitomi sighed, frustrated. It had been a raw angry  
year before she understood that Van was separating himself from his  
pain, not deliberately trying to push her away. It must be second  
nature after a lifetime of training to be strong, untouchable. But he  
didn't have to do that anymore, she would try to tell him as clearly as  
possible when communicating without language. He shouldn't have to  
stand alone anymore. She was here too...  
  
A burst of tangled grief and frustration, and Van would retreat  
behind a sulky blank screen of such fortitude it awed Hitomi even as  
she longed to smash it, crush it, tear it down with her bare hands. She  
had known its presence ever she met Van, but she never understood  
the lengths required to make it, the sorrow hidden behind it.  
  
Oh, Van.   
  
...and he would open, shy at the touch of her sympathy, and  
they wouldn't talk about it for a few months. She was convinced she  
could help Van destroy his walls if he allowed her a hammer. Things  
had changed so drastically, improved beyond comparison, since his  
childhood. He didn't need this kind of coping mechanism anymore.  
  
"Maaah," she said again, lightly now, trying to cheer herself  
up. "Van doesn't even know what coping mechanisms are. If they  
have therapy on Gaea, Van probably thinks it's a stupid waste of  
resources. Shows me what I really know about my major."  
  
It didn't help, she recognized, turning onto her back and  
staring at the ceiling. It didn't help because she was succumbing to a  
creeping doubt that Van's denial was unneeded. That it didn't help  
cushion something. Hitomi had always known her last sight of Van  
would be looking down at him in the graveyard, reaching for him,  
wanting his warm, resigned wet eyes for just a little longer. The  
adventure had been over. The mysteries had been explained. Her  
purpose on Gaea had been done. Everything was concluded, like it  
was the end of a saga. Leaving then had not been easy but it had felt  
supremely natural and right.   
  
Van, however, didn't see things as cycles or stories and an  
instinctive part of him had always believed Hitomi would come back.  
He had been prepared to give her up from the day they met her, yet  
Hitomi always had returned, somehow, someway. Van missed her  
steadily, faithful and patient as a matter of course.  
  
He had been so volatile lately, wildly grievous and angry and  
confused. The eventual necessity of an heir, an heir she could not  
possibly provide, had occurred to neither of them before. After five  
long years of having her in only fleeting brushes of recognition, maybe  
Van understood they were all he could expect. Maybe this sadness  
stemmed from rebellion against a maturity of sorts, fighting off the  
growing realization he would have to move past her.  
  
Hitomi blinked hard, swallowing. She was selfish, mean and  
nasty, and the idea of losing Van so definitively weighed sharply on  
her chest, threatened to cut off her air. Duty might force him to get  
married but she had no such obligation, no reason to give him up. She  
couldn't let go of Van voluntarily, watch him grow close and old with  
someone else. Yet, her return to Gaea meant endangering it, and Van  
would sooner cut off his hand than abandon Fanelia in order to live  
with her. Neither of them would think to expect such sacrifices,  
anyway. They were settled. They were home.  
  
Home had taken Hitomi a long time to find. The light had  
vanished unceremoniously after returning from Gaea, leaving her cold  
and disoriented on the track near Amano, Yukari cheering her on by  
the bleachers. Hitomi had stumbled badly and didn't win a bet whose  
purpose she had to struggle to remember and found endearingly silly  
when she did. Yukari had run over to console her, full of concern,  
sympathy and guilty relief, a bare tremor of hope in her voice. Hitomi  
held her in a long, silent hug, then turned Yukari around and nudged  
her firmly toward the increasingly incredulous Amano before walking  
off the track, beginning her solitary journey home.  
  
The first few months of her old life hadn't felt solid beneath  
her. Hitomi was almost scornful of the people here, who were so  
pampered by their technology and affluence and peace but simply  
didn't care. They never thought about it. They barely thought at all.  
Girls she once thought of as friends seemed substantial as paper dolls,  
giggling, shallow approximations of humanity. Hitomi sometimes saw  
herself as the only thing with dimension and texture in the world,  
sometimes as a watery ghost wallowing in her memories while other  
people lived. Without her tarot cards and her puppy love for Amano,  
which had so defined her before, Hitomi drifted, looking for  
somewhere to stand. She felt a stranger in her own life, which was far  
more surreal than anything on Gaea. Gaea was fantastic but simple,  
direct. She didn't care about the unspoken yet rigid and complex rules  
on Earth anymore.  
  
She ached for Van and simultaneously had to grow used to his  
constant presence. Learning, by endless experimentation, how to think  
of emotions in terms of consistency, (happiness was vapor, guilt  
dripped slowly as syrup, worry skittered, slimy like insects) how to  
force those feelings through a mental funnel into someone else's mind  
and then organize and understand what was sent in return was  
exasperatingly tedious for Hitomi, even with her experience in this sort  
of cognitive metaphor. It was nearly impossible for stubborn,  
unimaginative Van. The alternative of eternal awareness without  
understanding would have destroyed both of them, so they worked as  
diligently and patiently as they knew how until Van felt Hitomi's first  
hesitant expectation of success, and his subsequent joy rang through  
her.  
  
They had been sweetly, typically naive. Emotions are seldom  
coherent and often overpowering and unpleasant. They are never  
substitutes for sight or sound or smell, and Hitomi was shocked to  
learn how important physical sensations really were to her, how much  
she missed Van's touch. Empathy is always crucial but what she had  
with him was only a salty echo of a caress. She drifted further and  
further into herself, trying to find him and escaping from the  
absurdities at school, at home, with friends. Her eating and sleeping  
patterns grew increasingly erratic. Her grades dropped significantly.  
She forgot about track meets. She barely spoke, saying as little as  
possible in a tiny, wispy voice when forced to. She seldom left her  
house, her room, except to go to school.  
  
Hitomi didn't know how long she would have stayed a wraith  
if Yukari hadn't visited her two months into what would prove to be a  
successful relationship with Amano. Yukari's skin had been too pale  
and her eyes were rimmed a swollen blue as she started crying on  
Hitomi's bedroom carpet, sobbing with horrible sincerity that she was  
sorrier than she had ever been in her life that she was such a horrible  
friend. She would break up with Amano. She would never speak to  
him again; she would _kick_ him if that's what Hitomi wanted. She  
would do anything, anything at all, if Hitomi would just be okay  
again.  
  
Hitomi had sat, numb and unsure, before the focus stirred in  
her mind and then, for the first time in too long, her vision clicked into  
clarity. She had hugged Yukari hard, rocking them both back and  
forth; apologizing for making it seem as if it was her fault; telling her  
that she couldn't be happier for Yukari or Amano, and if they broke  
up because of her she would never forgive herself; assuring her best  
and oldest friend, as their tears mingling together and streamed off  
their cheeks, that she was going to be okay.  
  
And she was okay, in a manner of speaking. Hitomi,  
determined to regain her former respectability by restoring her grade-  
point average and position on the track team, worked at a horribly  
grueling pace for months, then forgot to relax when she had caught  
up. She became one of the strongest students in school, captain of the  
track team and an active member in the choir and student council,  
popular in the obligatory, distant way of most accomplished students.  
Swamped with homework and practices and parties, Hitomi seldom  
went to bed before midnight during the rest of high school, always fell  
asleep immediately and without dreams. Van was busy himself with  
forming a system of ultimate peace. He wasn't bothered by how little  
attention she paid him, allowing Hitomi years to diligently and  
productively avoid thought.   
  
One day in the last term of her last year, after she had been  
accepted to every college she applied to and had chosen the largest  
and most prestigious of them, she finished her night's studying, packed  
up her things neatly, sat down her bed and began to cry, sadness  
keening as it clawed its way out of an abandoned heart.  
  
Van was soundly asleep for the first time in more than three  
months, finally home from smoothing out part of the main treaty  
involving Fried and Zaibach. Still, he felt her tears as knives piercing  
his throat and woke. Hitomi felt his concern and wonder and  
exhaustion immediately. She could picture him in more detail than she  
had in years-- sitting up on his pallet in his large, empty, wooden  
bedroom, his thick black hair wildly askew and sweet combined with  
noble, obvious efforts not to yawn. The image was a warm one and, in  
picturing it, Hitomi again realized she loved Van so deeply it was a  
tangible pain. It ached in her chest, choked her throat.   
  
In the face of this new-old affirmation she could only cry  
harder.  
  
Because, she tried to convey miserably at Van's bewilderment,  
she _missed_ him. She had always missed him but it had hurt to miss  
someone so much, so futilely. She had tried to work through those  
feelings but she had only papered them over, confusing rejection with  
healing. She wanted Van here with her and she didn't care where here  
was if they were there together. But a here didn't exist for them. They  
had nowhere to go.  
  
Van didn't answer. He knew nothing to say. All he could do  
was to stay awake with her as she cried, making his presence strong  
and warm and comforting. He wished-- he tried to hide it from Hitomi  
but did a clumsy job-- he wished on all that was holy and powerful  
that he could hold her for just this one night. That she could hold him.  
  
Hitomi finally slept, and sleeping, dreamed for the first time in  
years, dreams with texture but no substance. She woke up swollen and  
rubbery and resigned that the pieces of her had come apart and needed  
to be assembled differently, correctly this time. She got out of bed,  
washed her face and took the first tiny, quivering steps towards being  
okay.  
  
Hitomi went off to college that fall serene in her knowledge  
that she could not exclude Van from her life any more than it could  
around him. She worked industrially although not so frantically that  
the colors in her life faded from neglect. She made good friends in  
every value of the word, which is not a blessing, as some say, but a  
gift. Hitomi discovered psychiatry. The study of the soul and the  
correction of the mind appealed to her pronounced sense of empathy  
and seemed fitting, almost poetic, somehow. While an underclassman,  
she had vague speculations for medical school which had evolved into  
names and plans as a rising-senior. The main choice was yet undecided  
but only a fluff of worry obscuring the shape of her life. And she had  
Van, although he was not beside her. That was enough, for now at  
least. Also there were times, when she felt him with such precision she  
could have been a mirror or when her breath would catch in her throat  
a moment before a white feather floated to the ground, almost  
touching her tennis shoes, she knew their paths would cross again as  
certainly as she knew anything.  
  
And now that she had finally swept up all the broken glass in  
her life, now that she had a new and brilliant hope that a fairytale  
ending might exist somewhere, the mere speculation of a child  
threatened to destroy it. How did this satisfy their story? How was this  
right?  
  
*****  
  
Celena had always privately believed Van would be an  
excellent troll, with the amount of time he spent skulking in the dark.  
At the very least he was a creature attuned to the wet promise of  
caves, always seeking out enclosed, dusky places to lurk in whenever  
possible. She didn't know whether he had made a conscious decision  
to go there, but Celena was certain she would find Van in the  
Crusade's cargo hold.  
  
Van was sitting on, Celena realized with a touch of dismay, a  
soft cloth bag containing her best dresses. A lamp flickered by his side,  
making his face look careworn and illuminating a sheet of pink paper  
he was holding. He looked up at her footsteps padding down the  
stairs, hand automatically reaching for his absent sword. Recognizing  
her, he relaxed and nudged the oil lamp over so she could see clearly  
enough to reach him.  
  
"What are you doing down here?"  
  
"Hiding from Allen." Celena barely avoided tripping over a  
suitcase, managing to be dainty about it. "He's trying to lecture me on  
proper Daedalian etiquette and I just can't take it anymore. What are  
you doing down here?"  
  
Van held up the paper. "Merle wrote yesterday. I didn't have  
time to read it then."  
  
"How is she?" Celena asked, more from courtesy than interest.  
She had only heard of Merle in passing reference and had never known  
the catgirl personally.  
  
Van took a little too long to say, "Happy. She likes all the  
children at the center. The people in the village are nice, and someone  
named..." he checked the letter for confirmation. "Setzal brings her  
flowers every other day and took her to the summer festival."  
  
"That sounds nice."  
  
It could have been a trick of the light, but Van seemed to  
grimace. "He'd better have serious intentions towards her. If he's just  
messing around with Merle for fun..."  
  
"You're going to make a very scary brother-in-law when she  
gets married. Honestly, you sound almost like Oniisama."  
  
Van uncurled, swinging his legs over the side of her garment  
bag. "You shouldn't say things like that."  
  
"Eh?"  
  
"About Allen. You love him and respect him, but he can't  
know it from the way you talk," Van stood up, rubbing his arms. "Is  
Sherazarde on board?"  
  
"What? Of course not, this is a visit to promote peace."  
  
Van blinked, staring somewhere at his side, far away. "Of  
course. Why would it be?"  
  
"Is something wrong, Van?" Celena picked up the lamp,  
making the shadows flee to the corners where they crouched, waiting  
to come back. "You're acting funny."  
  
Van blurted, almost sheepish but almost fierce too, "I don't  
know. I just have this feeling... it feels like... like something bad's  
gonna happen."  
  
"What do you mean by something bad? How do you feel  
differently?"  
  
"I don't know. Just... it's nothing. Dreams. It's not important,"  
Van sat down again, crossing his arms and scowling at the floor to  
indicate the conversation was over.  
  
Celena crossed her own arms in parody. "If you're going to  
mope while sitting on my dresses and rumbling them all up, I have the  
right to know what you're moping about."  
  
Van eyed her balefully beneath the fall of his hair like a sullen  
pony. She arched an eyebrow and started tapping her foot to  
demonstrate she wasn't impressed when the ship shifted suddenly from  
heavy turbulence and, caught off-balance, Celena's feet skidded out  
from under her as she landed on her bottom. Van snorted as she tried  
to regain her hauteur, not because of the fall in itself. He had never  
found the fact that she was hopelessly clumsy amusing or even  
particularly noteworthy.  
  
When she had first moved in with Allen, when she had first  
moved back home although everything was too disjointed and  
frightening for her to see that it was home at the time, she never acted  
the part of the clown, exactly, but she had almost unconsciously  
accentuated her trips and blunders. Dilandau's every action was one of  
poised, arrogant, grace; Celena considered it a good day if she hadn't  
walked into a tree. It was one of the dozens of little personality  
differences between them that everyone, including the princesses and  
even Allen, kept a private catalogue of. They knew Celena wasn't  
Dilandau. They _believed_ that Celena wasn't Dilandau, which meant  
much more, but he had presented such a threat and Celena had been so  
skittish and quiet in her uncertainty. She had changed back into  
Dilandau before and who could say she wouldn't again? Who could  
say that wasn't her _true_ form after all this time?  
  
So Celena had been as politely meek and awkward as she  
could let herself be, hoping strangers would relax their guard around  
her, trying to ease the occasional guilty flashes of worry in Allen's  
eyes. But, after they decided they could trust each other, Van  
unconditionally stopped associating her with his old rival. For much of  
those first two years he was the only person in her world who fully  
trusted her and Celena was infinitely grateful to him for that.  
  
"So whatsa matter, Van?" She asked again, not breaking  
rhythm.  
  
Van cradled his chin in his palms, debating something. "It took  
me a while to realize Merle wasn't coming home."  
  
Celena blinked. "Ah?"  
  
"It never occurred to me that she would ever leave," Van  
continued, shoulders slumping. "She was always... there for me. We  
were all each other had. But something changed after the war. She  
didn't let go of me, really, she still writes three times a week, but...  
One day she came to me almost crying, saying that things were too  
different now and she couldn't help me by staying by my side  
anymore. That I didn't need her like that anymore. She said the only  
way she could help me now was to help Fanelia, and she was leaving. I  
couldn't force her to stay, I didn't have the right, but I wanted to. I  
really wanted to."  
  
Van never lied but Van hid things. He was hiding now,  
diverting attention from the real problem to a cleaner, more  
sympathetic one. It might have been a tactical confession but Celena  
could see it was also an honest, painful sacrifice for such a private  
person and she didn't have the heart to confront him about it.   
  
He scared Celena sometimes, he was so clever. They could  
only be thankful Van _was_ direct and honest if given the choice.  
  
A buttery, unexpected light shone in as the hatch opened, and  
Van was immediately on his feet, holding her back with one hand.  
Celena eyed him, cool and skeptical, as a child's round, vaguely  
hopeful face peaked in.  
  
"Van-sama?"  
  
Van shot Celena a pre-emptive glare before she could laugh at  
him and stepped forward to help the boy down the ladder. "I'm here.  
It's Ren, isn't it?"  
  
On solid ground now, Celena could see the page blush. "Yes,  
Van-sama. Van-sama, Allen-dono says to tell you that the ship will  
land within the hour."  
  
"And that I should come up?" Ren nodded. "Tell him I'll be  
there soon. Thanks."  
  
After the boy had skittered back up again, Celena said, "He  
seems sort of young to be allowed to be part of a traveling party."  
  
Van shrugged. "I requested that he should come. I like him.  
He's smart and... I don't know. Familiar. Are you coming up too?" He  
added before she could say anything.  
  
"Not while Oniisama's still on a decorum kick."  
  
"Alright, fine," Van's voice almost echoed in the deepness of  
the hold as he started climbing up the ladder. "I'll just tell him you're  
in here."  
  
Celena stuck her tongue out at his uncaring back before  
scrambling over her skirts to follow Van up.  
  
*****  
  
Hitomi must have slept because she woke when someone  
banged heavily on her door. The sky was ink-blotter thick and dark  
from the pocket of her window, and, disoriented, Hitomi sat halfway  
and tried to make sense of the spidery green numbers of her alarm  
clock. It was almost nine. Finally she ran her fingers through her hair,  
straightened her shirt and went to the front door, peering through the  
peephole on tiptoe.   
  
"Who is it?"  
  
It was a laughing, low voice, a clarinet of a voice. "Kitsune.  
We'll either steal all your rice or give you an unlimited supply,  
depending on our mood. And if you give us money."  
  
Hitomi only smiled because he could not see it. "I don't have  
any rice."  
  
"Oh, for the sake of... Seiko, stop playing around. Hitomi, you  
know it's us. Please, open the door."  
  
Hitomi unlocked it and took a cautious step back. "If you're  
going to be so sweet about it..."  
  
Seiko slammed open the door like a Viking, proudly holding a  
white plastic sack in front of him. "Food!"  
  
"That's a bag," Hitomi pointed out.  
  
"There's food in the bag." Niabi stepped out behind him, a  
miraculously smooth, calm presence in his wake. The girls hugged,  
and Niabi's almond eyes narrowed, getting down to business. "I  
bought some ramen for you on the way home from work because I ran  
into Uirichi in the cafeteria. I'm very disappointed, Hitomi."  
  
"You're disappointed that I felt dizzy?"  
  
"Partially, but you slept all day and you'll eat a good dinner so  
I'm not very worried," Niabi said, voice echoing from inside the closet  
where she was getting trays. "Uirichi said you turned him down."  
  
Hitomi shrugged uncomfortably with one shoulder. "Oh,  
that..."  
  
"Yes that," Niabi mimicked, a little pinched. "And don't say  
this one isn't your type again. Uirichi is _everybody's_ type. He's nice  
and smart and handsome--"  
  
"Let's not get carried away," Seiko said in warning, sprawled  
on the couch the three of them had rescued from a dumpster when  
Hitomi had first moved in, gawky legs and arms almost eclipsing it.  
  
"And he's not always covered in paint..."  
  
Seiko groaned, one hand prominently displayed over his heart.  
"See how she treats me? Most girls would love to date a creative,  
sensitive artist like myself, and yet I fall in love with a woman made  
entirely out of right brain. The fate I suffer."  
  
"Poor Seiko-chan." Niabi perched on the armrest, stroking his  
hair back with the lightest brush of her fingertips. "It is hard to be  
involved with the only person capable of organizing your life,  
considering how screwed up you are."  
  
"I don't think that's a medical term."  
  
"It's not." A timer beeped in the kitchen nook, and Niabi  
returned to attention like a hunting dog. "The water's boiling."  
  
"Thank you," Hitomi whispered when she was out of earshot,  
sitting down beside him.  
  
Seiko shrugged, always a long, leisurely gesture for him. "If I  
can do anything, it's distracting Niabi-chan. But I only did it because I  
think it's your business if you want to die alone, not because I disagree  
with her."  
  
"I don't want to die alone..." she protested feebly.  
  
Seiko leaned over and tapped her on the nose with a paint-  
smeared finger. "I know you don't really. Sorry if Niabi-chan and I  
seem pushy sometimes. It's only because we love you and want you to  
be happy, and because we want to pay you back for introducing the  
two of us. You know that, right?"  
  
Hitomi nodded, and Niabi poked her head in to announce that  
dinner was ready. They ate on the floor with splintery chopsticks,  
talking about things worth very much and very little. The ramen was  
awful, salty enough to be brine, and the floor was uncomfortable but,  
in memory and in truth, it was a lovely dinner.  
  
*****  
  
In theory he could understand why the people treasured Van,  
clinging to a physical manifestation of right in these uncertain times.  
He knew that Van dwelled in the delicate gap between royalty and  
commoners, and how passionately people would react to a leader they  
could both trust and revere. Hypothetically, he understood perfectly.  
  
But if it was only a theory Allen would never have met Van,  
certainly not as a sullen, irrational kingling of ashes. He would not  
know how fundamentally wrong Van had been about so many matters  
that needed to be perfected for a kingdom to have any grasp at  
prosperity. Allen would not be able to remember the things he had  
taught Van; how he once considered him not inferior, exactly, but  
someone who could exist in the peripheral if Allen was unable to tend  
to his problems.  
  
So, he could acknowledge but not quite understand why it  
seemed as if the entire nation of Daedalus came to watch 'The  
Crusade' land, eager to personify a myth. It was an ocean of people,  
as many dressed in linens or velvets as in burlap, centralized but  
seething like the waves or the tide. Van appeared faintly surprised  
himself but he always acted ignorantly perplexed when he saw proof  
of his influence, as if he had stumbled into power by happy accident.  
Knowing Van, maybe he had, but he used his leverage with such  
calculated finesse that Allen was becoming irritated at his continual  
claims of anonymity.   
  
He gave a speech. It was simple and short. Allen could not  
remember the details, only that it dealt with peace and Van's gratitude  
for the crowd's participation in the process and how silent those  
hundreds of people had been during it, drinking his words with  
parched faces. Allen remembered being a little moved himself. It was  
as if he saw, not just in theory but with his eyes, Van's picture of Gaea  
as a circle-- an equal, perfect circle -- how this meeting was to  
hammer in a kink so it would be smooth and peaceful.  
  
Daedalus was a red kingdom, a dry kingdom, where the iron in  
the earth destroyed all possibilities of farmland. The heat-cracked  
ground gave off billows of rusty dust which turned the sky the tired  
crimson of dried blood. Daedalus was a mining nation, a country that  
lived on trade and careful planning. Asturia should not be an  
unknowing partner in any plan and that was why they came.  
  
Daedalus' king, Daelin, was tall and stooped with a strong  
nose and grey hair, formidable in the way of all men who had wielded  
power long enough to be at ease in it. He had not had any major  
problems with the alliance that either Allen or Van could remember,  
just joined in the general disagreeable rumblings towards Zaibach and  
expressed concern for the long-term safety of his kingdom which was  
quickly put to rest. He greeted the delegation in his throne room in full  
attire and ceremony, then moved to some sort of library or office  
where Van and Celena, at least, were more comfortable although  
Allen was nettled by this lack of respect. Daelin bowed deeply to Allen  
and Van, as the leaders, and kissed Celena's hand before taking a seat  
behind a gorgeous wooden desk.  
  
"We are, of course, honored to have the Shezars with us again  
as one of the most influential families in all of the great kingdom of  
Asturia. And Fanelia-dono, your presence is a true honor to this  
country."  
  
"Only as much of an honor as I feel from being allowed here,"  
Van said, polite if a little distant. His impatience with formality was  
legendary, however, and would not be considered offensive.  
  
"You are too kind, Fanelia-dono. As pleased as I am at the  
presence of both Asturia and Fanelia, I have no choice but to wonder  
why exactly Daedalus has this pleasure."  
  
"Bandits have killed three more Asturian citizens since our last  
visit," Allen answered, really speaking for the first time since they  
landed, voice low and throaty.  
  
Daelin had the decency to lower his eyes. "That is a tragic loss,  
Shezar-dono. We are doing everything in our power to apprehend  
these thieves and stop their spread of horror."  
  
"Indeed."  
  
Allen had time to glimpse Van looking at him, surprised by his  
threadbare gentility, before a scuffle could be heard, muffled by the  
door but still distracting. A low feminine voice was raising in timber,  
responding angrily to a person they could not hear, and then the door  
swung open and a girl entered, declaring, "I don't care if you have  
visitors, Papa, I have to talk to you about the water rations for the  
Eastern border. It's just not fair--"  
  
"Sarine!" Daelin rumbled, warning thunder before the storm.  
"This is hardly the time!"  
  
She put her hands on her hips. "I _said_, Papa, that I don't  
care who the guests are. We need to--"  
  
"Allen and Celena Shezar, Van Fanel, please meet my only  
daughter and child, Sarine Dauldus," Daelin said with weary finality.  
  
She froze, then her hands fell to her sides again. "That was  
_today_? Oh... please forgive me if I seemed rude." She smiled, it was  
beautiful, and curtsied before each of them. "Allen-san, Celena-san, it  
is a pleasure." After curtsying to Van she took his hand gently in both  
of her tiny, pale ones. "Van-san... this is an honor. I have always  
admired your work."  
  
Van shook his head lightly as he launched into a modified  
speech about how very little credit he deserved, seemingly unaware  
that a creature of the divine had graced him with her touch. Sarine was  
a few years younger than Celena and infinitely more delicate, with the  
long-legged almost gawky grace of a deer. Her eyes were large and  
dark, too dark to see what color they were a variation of but the  
constant play of light made them sparkle blue then grey then green.  
Her hair, now bound with jeweled clips, could have tumbled in dark  
brown waves to at least the small of her back and emphasized the  
cream of her complexion and her elegant pink mouth. She listened  
intently as Van talked, lovely head slightly tilted.  
  
Celena sidled up to Allen to whisper in his ear, "You're an  
engaged man. A _really_ engaged man, this time, and she can't be  
more than eighteen."  
  
"I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about, Celena-  
chan "  
  
Celena snorted a quiet but an unladylike snort, leaning back  
against a bookshelf.  
  
"We have, of course, prepared entertainment every night  
during your stay," Daelin said, seeing any semblance of order  
disintegrating. "To celebrate your arrival, for example, we are  
throwing a ball. I trust that will please you, knowing how you  
Asturians adore balls so."  
  
Van deflated, visibly sank a few inches. Allen hurried to fill any  
gap in the conversation. "We all look forward to it of course."  
  
Daelin nodded. "I imagine that you must be tired from your  
long journey. You will be shown to your chambers. Let us have a  
pleasant day of greeting before forcing ourselves through politics."  
  
"Yes," said Van. "And again, thank you for your hospitality,  
Daedalus." He took a step forward, meaning to bow, before realizing  
that Sarine was still holding his hand. He blinked at her, mildly  
curious, and she dropped it immediately. Van bowed and turned to  
leave, Celena and Allen at his heels, before adding as an afterthought,  
"During any sort of negotiation we might have, I would be interested  
to know about any water problems Daedalus might be having. Crimes  
stemming from a lack of resources are the most common, as Sarine-  
san seems to know."  
  
Confusion crossed her face like a cloud. "Resources? Oh...  
water rig- rations. Yes."  
  
They left shortly after that.  
  
*****  
  
the first meeting. an event for history. how did it go?  
  
as expected. slipped a little but recovered.  
  
careful. he could catch on quickly. keep up in front of the  
others, they're quick too.  
  
understood.  
  
impressed?  
  
more than expected. he's... strong.  
  
he's perfect. be perfect for him.  
  
*****  
  
Van did not hate balls even though he considered them empty,  
pointless social gatherings because he was careful only to hate what  
was dangerous enough to deserve his hatred. But he didn't see the  
point of dressing up and dancing anymore than he understood the  
theater or cardgames or education beyond basic reading and  
arithmetic. Van had no interest in entertainment; he had never had the  
luxury of boredom.  
  
But he understood why his presence was required at Daelin's  
festivities that night. Van came, sat at his table and tried to stay  
awake, until Allen demanded, with urgent, quiet outrage, that he leave  
the main hall considering it was only a matter of time before his  
ingratitude offended the assembled Daedalians. Not for the first time,  
Van couldn't begin to understand Allen's reasoning but he conceded  
to it eagerly and snuck out to the balcony. Van always fit into himself  
better outside. Life felt more concrete, more substantial, there. He  
settled down on his back, arms folded behind his head, savoring the  
pressure of cold, rough stones against his shirt. The mystic moon was  
shining, huge, above him, made from a purer, wiser light than sunstuff.  
  
He had brought Folken's dragon to Daedalus because he didn't  
know what else he could do with it. The carving, the dream, this visit,  
were all important somehow. A thrumming, crouching, energy had  
been bothering him all day, offering a hint of something that was going  
to happen, something big. Van could taste it, feel its itch on his  
fingertips, but he was missing a key element, some connecting theme,  
that would make the situation clear. Van found it  
profoundly frustrating.  
  
He felt the vibrations of careful footsteps, footsteps of  
someone trying to hide, more than he heard them. Van jumped up,  
whirled around, only to see Sarine, almost invisible in the dark of her  
midnight blue gown except her lines were illuminated by the surreally  
bright reflection of the room she had come from. She took a step back  
in surprise. Van forced himself to stand in a less threatening position.  
  
"Van-san," she started, a little uncertain. "You're not enjoying  
yourself tonight, are you?"  
  
Allen had been right about Van's taciturnity. The king of  
Fanelia had the natural social skills of an oyster and polite  
conversation was always an incomprehensible tribulation for him. Still,  
peace could only result from discussion and Van tried to be tactful  
here. "I'm enjoying myself here as much as I ever do at these things.  
I... don't find them comfortable.  
  
"Don't you? I don't like them either." She glided to the edge  
of the balcony with the slightest swish of her skirt, gripping onto the  
railing, staring at the moons."  
  
"You were laughing and smiling and dancing whenever I saw  
you in there."  
  
"Yes, well," the catch in her voice could be interpreted as  
insecurity. "I do it for Father. He needs me to be the laughing, gay  
princess. The Mystic Moon certainly is big tonight."  
  
Van said, "Aa."  
  
She half-turned around, head tilted almost expectantly. Van  
had the nagging suspicion he was supposed to stand beside her, and he  
covered the distance between them cautiously, settling a few safe feet  
to her side. Satisfied, Sarine turned back to the sky.  
  
"They say you've been there," she said. "They say you killed  
the dragon there and went back again just before the final battle with  
Zaibach."  
  
"They say a lot of things," Van said evenly.  
  
"They do," she agreed with sudden conviction, turning around  
and staring up at him, impossibly, ethereally, beautiful. "They say  
you've disappeared in pillars of white light and can kill ten men with  
one blow and that your guymelef is magical. The say you were sent by  
the gods to save Gaea in its time of need. It can't all be true, can it?"  
  
"No," Van simply said. "It can't and it isn't."  
  
Sarine drew back with a sigh. "I know it has to be somewhat  
exaggerated, but I still think you're not being completely honest with  
me, Van-san. I doubted those stories before I met you, but you seem  
like someone who could do something like that. Let's not lie to each  
other, Van-san. I think we could be friends."  
  
Inexplicably, Van felt echoes of the time he went on a fishing  
trip with Folken and Balgus, and had gotten bored and wandered into  
the underbrush and met a lovely, iridescent, purple snake. It had been  
the size of Van's foot and stared at him with cool amber eyes, and Van  
had stared back and was about to reach down to pick it up before  
Balgus, correctly suspicious of quiet little boys, charged forward and  
chopped it in half, explaining later that that type of snake's venom was  
poisonous enough to kill a cow in six seconds.  
  
"Excuse me, I promised Allen that I would talk to him about  
something," and Van left, so swift and quiet anyone could tell he used  
to be a soldier. Sarine watched his red shirt grow smaller and brighter  
as he walked back into the inside light, her intricate, luminous eyes  
harder than marbles.  
  
*****  
  
should have known it couldn't have been done like that. he's  
too reserved, too focused.  
  
shouldn't matter. it was tailor made for him. couldn't have  
failed from strength of will alone.  
  
didn't. they're still connected. he won't be seduced without a  
fight.  
  
how do you know?  
  
from watching. one can learn so much by watching.  
  
at least it can be fixed.  
  
indeed.  
  
*****  
  
City dawns are not often colorful but, with their thin,  
diamond light, they are lovely in a calm, disturbing way. Hitomi  
watched the morning sky from her postage stamp of a window,  
resigned to the new day. Normally a firm believer in staying in bed  
until at least eight at the remotest possible chance, she hadn't slept  
well the night before and did not see the point in continuing to try. She  
stretched, grimacing as her joints popped, and padded into the kitchen  
to make tea.  
  
She was filling up the pot in the sink when the dizziness hit. It  
physically plowed into her, absorbed her, and her vision flickered and  
refocused on colors that were too bright and pictures that made no  
sense.  
  
No, she might have whispered although it could have only been  
a thought as she struggled against the almost-forgotten rhythm. No, I gave  
that up. There's no reason for this. I shouldn't have them anymore.  
  
Please  
  
Atlantis was burning red and gold next to the blue of the sea. It  
roared with its last reserves of strength, its golden dome dripping what  
almost looked like tears down the scorched marble pillars. The sky  
was red and grey and black: painful colors. Dying colors  
  
In the largest dome, only standing now on the strength of its  
former majesty, prideful angels were floating in a circle, concentrating  
on their last chance of redemption. Some looked peaceful, resigned,  
others were crying silently with their eyes closed in concentration,  
some appeared angry.  
  
The draconians had been angry?  
  
Sun-sparkling dancing blue-green light filled the room just  
before the roof caved in and most of the draconians looked relieved at  
this final, hopeful, promise. Some of them, with uncertain glances and  
quick hugs of loved ones, floated to the center of the room, of the  
light, and...  
  
And Hitomi was falling, falling into endless darkness when a  
figure made of light and masked by shadows grabbed her hand, its  
graceful wings spread wide, unseen eyes boring into hers. Hitomi's  
eternal savior, who made everything strong and safe again.  
  
"Van," she whispered.  
  
But then she was level with the person, although never equal  
to her pale, beautifully sad face and cascades of forest colored hair,  
and it was not Van at all.  
  
"Van no kasan?"  
  
Varie smiled, serene and distant. "Hitomi." She squeezed her  
hand. "My apologies. You will understand soon, I promise."  
  
Hitomi had time for a startled, "What?" before everything she  
ever knew was pain. Something was being torn from her without her  
consent, leaving trails of fire and ice. Hitomi tried desperately to hold  
on, unsure of the specifics, but knowing she needed what was being  
stolen with all that made her human.  
  
But she didn't know who or why she was fighting and they  
took it completely, with little effort. Hitomi screamed and screamed  
and screamed and screamed before she was swallowed by the  
darkness again, which she knew would numb the shock for a little  
while.  
  
*****  
  
They were walking to the first conference of their visit when  
Van staggered forward as if from his dying wound. An almost  
inaudible whimper came deep from his throat, and Van nearly threw  
himself against the wall to keep from collapsing.  
  
Fortunately they had not gone far from his room and Allen was  
always a rock during these times. He caught Van, who slumped over  
bonelessly at the touch of his arm, and supported him by the waist  
back to his chambers.  
  
Van curled up tightly, swallowing convulsively, when Allen  
dropped him on the bed. The knight considered slapping the younger  
boy out of whatever shock he was in. Van didn't seem to be hysterical  
so much as he was hurting, and he settled on tentatively resting his  
hand on the boy's forehead. Van still remained nearly catatonic but he  
started breathing somewhat normally.  
  
"Van," Allen murmured, trying to keep his voice soft and  
soothing although he would not have been more anxious if Dornkirk  
had materialized in the room. "Van, what happened? What's wrong?"  
  
Van swallowed hard once, curling up even tighter in poor  
defense against whatever nightmare he had been thrown into. A lesser  
man would probably be screaming. Allen sat lightly on the bed,  
smoothing over Van's hair and feeling quite awkward and foolish for  
it, but Van seemed as close to weakness as Allen had ever seen him,  
and he would rather die than live knowing he had not helped a fallen  
comrade. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, Van relaxed, stretching out  
a little, eyelashes trembling against the curve of his cheek and  
breathing noisily, like a child.  
  
"Van," Allen tried again. "What's wrong?"  
  
He opened his eyes slowly, looking up at Allen with touching  
uncertainty. In such a terribly sad and fragile voice Van could have  
been spun glass, he said, "She's gone."  
  
Allen's eyebrows met in confusion before his expression  
softened, sympathetic towards broken hearts. He said, even softer than  
before, "She's been gone for years, Van."  
  
Van froze again, Allen was afraid he might have triggered a  
relapse, before he turned over, hiding his face. "She has, hasn't she?"  
  
They stayed like that, a sculpture's model of bereavement,  
until Van said, in what was perhaps a too clipped and hard voice, he  
was well enough to go.  
  
*****  
  
it worked. we can proceed as planned.  
  
almost. they'll be upset. move slowly.  
  
no reason. she's separate. he won't be effected by outside  
forces.  
  
cocky.  
  
perhaps. he is stronger than expected. handsome too. doubtless  
he's faced similar situations.  
  
growing attached? unwise. affection, yes, but be rational.  
  
always. besides, we know how he thinks.  
  
foolish. never presume to know how any class of being thinks.  
he wouldn't be so powerful if he was easy to understand. same  
with her, the surface means very little.  
  
her? who cares about her now?  
  
he does. remember that.  
  
*****  
  
Red.  
  
A pool of flat, watery red was the first thing Hitomi saw upon  
waking up with an aching shoulder and a throbbing wrist. She lifted  
herself up by her arms, wincing as the muscles there protested leaving  
the hardwood floor. Shards of glass were scattered all over, sharp and  
menacing but nearly invisible except when the light glinted off them.  
She must have dropped the pot and cut herself on a piece of it, judging  
from the placid trickle of blood running off her arm to the floor.  
Hitomi stood up, accidently cutting her foot, and held her arm under  
the rush of the faucet to staunch the bleeding, trying not to shake.  
  
It had been another vision. Not a long or directly threatening  
one but still, after all this time and all those fiercely made, fiercely  
kept, promises, she had felt another brush with something fantastic  
and insane. It had to be a premonition of something important and,  
without even consciously deciding to do so, she reached out to warn  
Van.  
  
And stopped dead, all sound filtering out of the room except  
for the increasingly loud pounding of her own heartbeat. She wasn't  
empty, exactly; Hitomi's thoughts and moods and memories were still  
in her as they are in everyone. She felt closed, as if a door to a cage  
she never realized had a door or even the ability to trap had slammed  
shut.  
  
Sorry, Varie had said. You'll understand.  
  
"Van?" Hitomi called out softly, feeling stupid since it would  
have been a useless gesture in any case but desperate. She needed to  
hope, to hold onto something spectacular that she had almost taken  
for granted and push the grey truth away. "Van?"  
  
But she knew in her bones that he wasn't there. Hitomi was  
alone. The salt of her tears stung her cut briefly as they mixed with her  
blood until the flow of water carried both away.  
  
End Part Two  
  
  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3: West Wind

*****************************************  
The Vision of Escaflowne: A Return to Gaea  
*****************************************  
  
Part Three: West Wind  
  
  
  
The trumpets of a prophecy! O, Wind,  
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?  
Percy Shelley  
  
  
  
******  
  
  
Almost three weeks had passed since they had come to Daedalus.  
Three endlessly boring and, piecing together what little Van and Allen  
had told her about the conferences, futile weeks Celena would never  
get back which she had been forced to pass in Sarine's company.  
  
It was natural and proper that Sarine would invite the only female  
member of their party, especially one so near her in age, to be her  
companion for the duration of their stay; it was only courteous of  
Celena to accept her invitation. Celena understood it was Allen's sole  
reason for bringing her and she couldn't drudge up enough anger to  
hold it against him, but Sarine, she had come to realize, was one of the  
few people she actively disliked and Celena wanted to go home.  
  
There were plenty of surface reasons to hate Sarine. Celena had  
just escaped from a session with Sarine of embroidering shawls for the  
coming winter, which was always an intolerant and brutal season in  
the barren flatlands of Daedalus. Celena was vehemently opposed to  
sewing partly because it was useless in itself and only served as an  
excuse to keep females indoors and complacent and partly because she  
was horrible at it. While Sarine's needle told a detailed and fascinating  
story of unicorns and peach-cheeked maidens, Celena had lost hope  
after her first few knotty lumps. She had excused herself, claiming  
fatigue, and shot the hell out of there.  
  
Sarine was too much of a lady for her taste, with her startled,  
endearing little affectations and no seeming desire to try anything  
interesting. Eries and Millerna, both of whom Celena rather liked,  
were strong and capable even with their overtly feminine mannerisms.  
Sarine was effusive and boring and content to wear pretty things and  
marry rich.  
  
Or, Celena was beginning to speculate with a sick stomach, that  
was only what Sarine wanted her to think. There was a sharpness in  
Sarine's eyes, a sourness in her mouth when she thought no one was  
looking. She was more calculating and shrewd than she wanted people  
to know. Sarine was hiding something, a secret or a plan, and it was  
bound to be superbly unpleasant.  
  
Celena was walking slowly through a curved stone hall, listening to  
her footsteps echo off the walls, when the sound of soft, high-pitched  
sobs caught her attention. She stopped, tilting her head as she tried to  
distinguish the source, then followed it to one of the many hidden little  
nooks, that multiply over the decades in old castles, where a boy was  
crying.  
  
His back was towards her and she could only see a shock of  
brown-black hair, but he was wearing Fanelian colors and Celena had  
a good memory. He was a page that Van brought with him on Allen's  
insistence that they have some sort of company with them, currently  
hugging his knees tightly to his chest and almost mewing with the  
effort of controlling his mournful, hopeless tears.  
  
"Ren?" Celena said softly, always good with names. Ren looked up  
and blanched in panic, scrubbing his eyes and nose with the back of his  
hand. Celena sat next to him, close but not close enough to be  
threatening. "What's the matter?"  
  
It's hard to be stoic when faced with kindness and Ren burst out  
crying with new resolve at the sound of a sympathetic voice. Celena's  
first instinct was to gather him in her arms and hug him, to show him  
that he was safe, but boys found coddling shameful and Celena settled  
for putting a light arm around his shoulders. "Did something happen,  
Ren?"  
  
The boy shook his head dolefully.  
  
"Then is something wrong?"  
  
Ren's lower lip quivered and, to Celena's surprise, he buried his  
head in her skirt as he wailed, "I don't want Van-sama to leave!"  
  
"But... Van's not leaving Ren-chan," Celena said gently, running  
her hand through his hair. "Well, he'll leave when you and I and  
everyone else who came with us leaves, but he's not  
going anywhere right now."  
  
She could feel the material of her dress twist as Ren shook his  
head. "He won't mean to. But Van-sama'll go away and people will be  
sad at him."  
  
Celena was too confused by his phrasing to interpret his meaning.  
"Why do you think Van will leave? Did you hear someone talking?"  
  
Ren stood up at attention immediately, eyes sore but dry. "I... don't  
know, Celena-san. I have to go now."   
  
He zoomed away in a blur of red and brown, leaving Celena to  
smooth out the wrinkles he had made in her dress, muttering, "That  
was weird."  
  
******  
  
Exactly three weeks had past since he had lost contact with Hitomi.  
Van's campaign not to think about it had been a successful one, only  
marred by noting this anniversary and a general underlying grief.   
  
She hadn't wanted to leave him. Van had felt her confusion and her  
horror before she was ripped away, and he clung to that memory.  
When the conferences were over he would travel for endless years,  
create oceans of the blood of the guilty, to find out what happened and  
get her back. He couldn't leave now so Van would stay in Daedalus  
until its king promised to stop bullying Allen and Eries, not thinking  
about how very waifish and insubstantial Hitomi's absence had left  
him.  
  
The peace talks themselves helped. Van listened slumped down in  
his chair eyes closed and arms crossed and let the undercurrent  
murmurs of the debates fill up his head. He hadn't spoken often, had  
usually acting bored or sleepy because he could get away with it, but  
Van bathed in the conversation, let it seep through his pores and  
saturate his thoughts.  
  
Daelin was drumming his fingers on the table, something he did  
when Allen was beginning to wear on his patience. "You understand,  
Allen-dono, that these are bandit attacks. Nothing more, nothing less.  
Daedalus does not officially condone any breach of the law, let alone  
ones involving foreign affairs. Do not act under the assumption that  
the country itself is benefitting."  
  
"Of course. You have never actively condoned the raids. I only  
suggest that you now make an active attempt to stop them."  
  
Allen's hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail; he hadn't had the  
time to properly attend to it. The new bruised skin folded above and  
below his eyes stood in stark contrast to his equally recent pallor. Van  
had almost forgotten how much Allen cared, how he believed his code  
of chivalry preserved justice.  
  
"Our laws against such activity have always been strict,  
Allen-dono."  
  
Van was pretty certain Celena knew something was wrong. She  
always had before and lately she had taken to peering up at him,  
concern clouding her eyes. Most of the time Van was thankful she had  
taken it upon herself to be his confidant, although most of the time he  
was also thankful she lived far away. He didn't know if he could  
describe this to her, didn't know if being forced to explain this travesty  
would destroy all his resolves to be strong.  
  
Allen stood up, actually slammed his fist down on the table, three  
weeks of bitterness and frustration speaking through his voice. "Well  
they're obviously not strict enough!"  
  
"Allen," Van said, the first thing he had said all morning. The  
whole room turned around to look at him. Allen did too, glaring pure  
murder although he calmed down almost immediately. Allen was not a  
rash man. Still Van couldn't help feeling a little guilty glee at this role  
reversal and the chance to be patronizingly rational while Allen was  
angry. It's easy to stay calm when someone else's homeland is in  
danger.  
  
"Allen," he said again. "Would you mind if Daedalus and me talked  
alone? Just the two of us here," he specified for Daelin's advisors.  
  
Allen narrowed his eyebrows, looking back and forth between the  
two kings. He straightened his cravat, once again in command of his  
innate dignity, nodded and brushed out of the room. Passing Van he  
said, very low and quiet so only the two of them could hear, "I hope  
you know what you're doing."  
  
Van shrugged. He never did.  
  
Grudgingly, the advisors filed out when Van stared at them  
pointedly. The room, designed to contain the swarms of pomposity  
that hovered over large gatherings of politicians, felt barren with  
only two men blunted by a lifetime of unquestioned authority.  
  
Van took a long sip of water and glanced at Allen's notes, which  
were still on the table and indecipherably written in private note-taking  
scrawl. He didn't look up to say, "He's a good man."  
  
Daelin blinked, startled. "What?"  
  
Van jerked his chin slightly to the door behind him. "Allen. We  
don't agree all that much but he stood with me and fought by my side  
and even let himself go to prison when he didn't have to because he  
believed he was doing the right thing. The thing that would help  
everybody, not just himself or Asturia. I don't know a better way to  
define a good man."  
  
"Ah."  
  
Van circled the rim of the water glass with one finger. "Allen hasn't  
had an easy life. The past few years have been the first real break he's  
ever got. He loves the princess and Asturia and he'll be a good king."  
Van met Daelin's eyes, expression perfectly impassive. "And you're not  
helping him any by attacking those Asturian outposts."  
  
Daelin, a professional, didn't miss a beat. "Fanelia-dono, I was just  
explaining before, Daedalus itself is not responsible for-"  
  
"You've been disguising your army as bandits and attacking Asturia  
for over six colors," Van interrupted. "Why?"  
  
Daelin didn't answer, looking out the lone, arched window like a  
man with a kingdom on his shoulders, He rose to stand closer to the  
window, motioning for Van to join him.  
  
"You see out there," he said finally, gesturing to the red ground  
and the red sky and a strange silver machine buried deep within the  
earth. "What do you think it is?"  
  
"Mining equipment?" Van hazarded.  
  
Daelin turned to him, faintly amused, and Van realized how very  
young the other king must think he was. "Very good, Fanelia-dono.  
It's a machine that breaks the surface ground. Here in Daedalus there  
is mining equipment directly outside the castle walls."  
  
He sat down again in his chair, leaving Van starkly outlined in red  
from light filtering in through window. "Things do not grow easily in  
our soil. We do not have enough crops to feed a city, let alone a  
kingdom. Daedalus is a mining nation, Fanelia-dono."  
  
Van did not answer. He was expected to ask some innocuous  
question that would lead  
Daelin to his main point and he refused to let this man make him sound  
ignorant.  
  
Daelin settled back in his chair. "Until very recently the materials  
Daedalus mined was used to build guymelefs."  
  
"There are thousands of other uses for metal."  
  
"Pots and pans," Daelin said scornfully, angrily. "Plates, forks. All  
the utensils in the world do not equal the iron used to make one  
guymelef."  
  
Van's expression softened. "It's impossible to make a lasting peace  
treaty that doesn't outlaw the production of powerful weapons. I'm  
sorry if you've lost a source of income but there are always other ways  
to make money. Rivers can be diverted to run through Daedalus. After  
a time it can be a land where people can farm-"  
  
"You do not understand the situation, Fanelia." The rage in  
Daelin's voice was real and intimidating, and Van unconsciously leaned  
back. "Daedalians are a proud and stubborn people, and they scorn  
farming. Not having to grow one's own food is only honorable here.  
Sixty-five percent of the iron mined went into guymelef production. I  
approve of peace, Fanelia-dono, but not at the expense of my people's  
starvation. I like to think of myself as a sensible man and I agree that  
changing to a agriculturally based economy is only course Daedalus  
can take. The public will not attempt that without a motivation  
powerful enough to overcome generations of prejudice. I think you  
will agree that only chaos can come of telling them the most powerful  
motivation."  
  
Van nodded, eyes thoughtful and sad. "I'm... But how can pillaging  
a few Asturian towns help you?"  
  
"It can't." Daelin hesitated. "Fanelia-dono, what do you think of my  
daughter?"  
  
"Sarine?" Van asked, confused. "I don't know her well but she  
seems... nice."  
  
"Nice enough to marry?"  
  
"What?"  
  
Daelin reached out as if to put a hand on Van's shoulder but redrew  
it again. "You inspire people, Fanelia. It's what you're known for. If  
our nations are joined and my people know you'll be their future leader  
perhaps they would indulge you and try to farm."  
  
"I can talk to them and inspire them without being married to your  
daughter."  
  
"Not enough," Daelin said ruefully. "Not nearly enough."  
  
Van sat down on the window sill, bracing his arms against it to  
support his upper body. "You can't be serious."  
  
"Can't I? You are both of prime marriageable age, marrying into  
another country is nice,  
symbolic gesture and Sarine is beautiful and kind and she likes you. I  
think it's perfectly  
reasonable."  
  
"No!" Van blurted out, an immediate gut reaction. Then, trying not  
to sound as harsh, "It doesn't have anything to do with you or Sarine  
or politics but I can't. There have to be hundreds of other ways of  
solving your problems and we'll find one that'll work."  
  
"That's your final say on the subject, Fanelia?"  
  
Van nodded. "Allen's pretty good at this sort of thing. I'm sure the  
three of us together could come up with some way to-"  
  
"You know, there were quite a few nearly operational guymelefs in  
Daedalus that weren't quite finished before the treaty was signed."  
Daelin was staring out the window again, expression drawn and  
unreadable. "I'm sure they would function quite readily given a few  
minor tweaks."  
  
Van's eyes narrowed. "Would they?"  
  
"The bandit raids seem to be moving east," Daelin added, almost  
conversationally. "They're getting quite close to Freid, actually."  
  
"You're threatening to attack Chid," Van explicated, standing up.  
  
"Don't be hasty, Fanelia. I merely--"  
  
"You're threatening to attack _Chid_?!" Van repeated, hearing the  
growing hysteria in his voice from somewhere far away. "Because I  
won't marry your daughter who've I've known for less than a month,  
you'd invade a struggling kingdom ruled by an eleven year old kid?!  
That's insane! Did you actually expect me to take this seriously?"  
  
"I'm too desperate to bluff, Fanelia. Don't be foolish or arrogant  
enough to treat this as a choice."  
  
He might as well be crying for help from the bottom of a pit for all  
the power he controlled here and that alone would have made the  
problem too strange and too big. Van couldn't think. There was only a  
sour twisting in his stomach and a small, sneering voice in the back of  
his head mocking him and his fear.  
  
"Ask me for anything else," he said, quiet but hoarse.   
  
Daelin turned around. "Hmm?"  
  
Van looked down at the carpet. He didn't want to meet Daelin's  
eyes. He didn't want Daelin to see his. "I'll give you money. I'll  
reroute rivers to pass through your borders. I'll work your land until  
my fingers bleed. I'll do everything within my power, just don't ask me  
to do that. Anything but that... please"  
  
Daelin shook his head, profile impassive and remote. Van was  
almost angrier about his apathy than his ultimatum. "We're both  
intelligent men, Fanelia, and skirting around the issue is beneath us. To  
maintain peace, which you spent your youth creating, please marry my  
daughter."  
  
"This doesn't make any sense!" Van cried. "Why do you care so  
much? Why me?"  
  
Daelin turned back to the window. "Sarine is the most valuable  
natural resource Daedalus has now. I will get as much for her as I  
can." He paused. "If I might be so bold, Fanelia, what is your main  
object--"  
  
"You can't."   
  
"... Aa."  
  
Van could feel the pressure of every link of pendant's chain against  
his skin. His gaze settled on a pair of heavy gold candlesticks on the  
center of the table, and he realized with a kind of distant horror that he  
was calculating the amount of time he needed to grab one and swing,  
the force of impact required...   
  
"Do I have time to think this over before I make a decision?" He  
asked, almost sarcastic.  
  
"As long as you need, Fanelia."  
  
Van snorted. The door shook and settled off its hinges when he left  
the room.  
  
*****  
  
Allen found him in his room, sitting on the bed with rounded  
shoulders and staring at the wall. The younger boy didn't respond  
when he asked about the conversation.  
  
"Van?" Allen said again, a little tight. "What went wrong?"  
  
Van's voice was empty. "He wants me to marry Sarine."  
  
Allen hadn't expected an answer; hearing Van speak was as much  
of a surprise as his words. Allen didn't know what he could say.   
  
"He won't attack Asturia any more if I marry Sarine. There'll be  
peace if I marry Sarine. "Van glared up at him defiantly, as if he was  
issuing a challenge.  
  
"You can only do what you think is right, Van," Allen gently said.  
"Follow your heart but don't ignore your head. Remember--"  
  
"They're planning to invade Fried if I don't marry her."  
  
Allen stopped talking to take a breath as sharp as a knife. Silence  
swamped the room. Nothing else to do, he followed Van's line of  
sight. There was a hole in the wall, small but very deep. The palace  
walls were plastered thick to block out noise. Allen looked back at  
Van. The king's right hand was red and swelling. His knuckles were  
nearly raw.  
  
"Oh," Allen said at length. He lowered his head slightly, hair falling  
over his shoulders like a curtain. "I... I don't think I can advise you  
about this matter, Van."  
  
Van shrugged with one shoulder, as if he had expected as much.  
Allen turned to go.  
  
"Hey, Allen?"  
  
Allen halted at the door. "Yes?"  
  
"Don't tell Celena, okay?"  
  
"You have my word."  
  
And he kept it, even though Celena alternately prodded and cajoled  
him to learn why Van didn't leave his quarters for the rest of the day.  
  
*****  
  
stupid! stupid! stupid! things were going well and he had to  
ruin it with a damn ultimatum...  
  
it is not how it was originally planned. still, there could be   
worse setbacks.  
  
what? having him bludgeoned to death? what gave that stupid   
old man the right to think he had a say   
  
you have. for the past sixteen years. be calm.  
  
... apologies. please instruct on how to next act.  
  
be distant. don't let him know you know about this. let him  
come to you. perhaps-  
  
yes?  
  
perhaps consider a different method.  
  
unacceptable.  
  
what is too difficult to accept?  
  
...have spent too long preparing and training.  
  
indeed.  
  
yes. and not enough time to come up with a different method.  
  
sound reasoning indeed...  
  
*****  
  
A little over three weeks had passed since the vision and Hitomi  
was finding it much easier to cry than she ever had before. Banging  
her elbow against a table, misplacing her shoes, passing a  
car accident on her way to work made her throat swell and her eyes  
quiver with tears she was always too proud or too embarrassed to  
shed. She missed Van; she missed the simple reassurance of his  
presence. She felt homesick and exposed and achingly alone. Hitomi  
had forgotten how solid and oppressive loneliness could be, how it  
muddled your senses and made you unclean. Being isolated in her head  
was stripping Hitomi raw.  
  
But she never actually let herself cry and that stood for something.  
Weeping was a sign of defeat and Hitomi wanted to at least know  
what game she was playing before she lost at it.  
  
She hadn't had another vision since the one that took Van away  
although she had been waiting for one more or less patiently. It was  
funny in a dry, distant way that she was so desperate for something  
she had spent her adolescence wishing away. Hitomi didn't really care;  
finding Van, finding answers, was too important to sulk about the  
methods.   
  
The only problem was that she had never actively tried to have a  
vision before, and she hadn't the faintest idea how to go about it.  
Hitomi meditated at first, hoping that releasing conscious thought  
would lead to releasing consciousness, but the back of her neck always  
itched like people were snickering at her off in a corner. The polar  
opposite, thinking about what happened logically as a series of steps  
and people, only made her mad at how nasty all of this was, and logic  
can't be born from anger.  
  
Hitomi would be willing to do almost anything to find and fix the  
wrongs involved. She remained stagnate because there was nothing for  
her to do. The situation was so devastatingly simple it rang with  
finality.  
  
Indeed, during this hard awful time she was almost startled that the  
world just kept... going. Hitomi payed her bills and went to work and  
shopped for groceries and ate out with Seiko and Niabi like nothing  
had changed because on the outside nothing _had_ changed.  
Mundaneness was pushing her through life and Hitomi was scared that  
she would end up married with three kids and Van only as a distant  
memory because she couldn't stop the momentum.   
  
But today was Saturday; Seiko and Niabi were out doing  
something couple-y; and Hitomi was free to sit out in the middle of the  
empty quad and brood in the summer humidity. Her thoughts were too  
circular to pretend she was doing anything else.  
  
It wasn't fair that this happened. It wasn't right. It was just  
senseless, meaningless cruelty and Hitomi wasn't used to being as  
angry as it made her. She was naturally a mild person: what she  
thought of as normal anger was someone else's indignation, and  
Hitomi could hardly identify let alone handle the jagged lump of rage  
cutting into a queer space behind her breastbone. She had been  
snapping at everyone lately and then staying awake all night thinking it  
over and hating herself for it. Hitomi wasn't an angry person but she  
was a natural at self-flagellation.  
  
Still the anger was better than nothing because anger had to be  
directed at something, even if it was vague and nameless. Hitomi had  
to believe that there was someone directly and willingly responsible,  
that there was any sort of reason behind this. The idea that Van was  
gone forever because of a random tweak of fate or time was too hard  
and cold to entertain. A kind universe couldn't be ruled by that sort of  
science.  
  
Although it behaved oddly sometimes. Hitomi sighed and hugged  
her knees to her chest, staring at the grass between her sneakers.  
  
And blinked. She carefully reached down, picking up a small circle  
of copper and holding it up to glint against the sunlight.  
  
American money is fairly stable international currency and it is not  
altogether uncommon to see dollar bills in Japan. Still the smaller the  
amount tendered the rarer the unit, and Hitomi had almost never seen  
a real American penny before. The surprise of it cheered her up a little.  
  
Someone had once told her - Amano maybe, or Sekio. No it must  
of been Yukari, who had a cousin living in America - finding a penny  
was good luck. If you found one head side up you could make a wish  
on it. That was a very American-sounding superstition, using the most  
common token available as a sign of good fortune, with a fifty-fifty  
chance of getting a wish. It was also American in its enthusiastic  
stupidity. Americans were eager to make wishes because they didn't  
understand that they had real power.  
  
  
Hitomi let the penny settle on the center of her palm, thinking  
about wishes and wishing and promises she had made to keep.   
  
It was a ridiculous, dangerous idea, even assuming there was a way  
to control destiny other than the pendant and the energists. And if  
there was, would she be receptive to it or were her... talents exclusive  
to one type of medium, like a chemical reaction? And didn't she have a  
moral obligation to never try to change fate? Even if she had the best  
intentions and only wanted to fix things. *Especially* if she wanted to  
fix things.   
  
Still, now that she had another option, Hitomi realized how very  
sick she was of doing what was morally right and suffering in silence  
for it.  
  
What had happened to Van and her hadn't been part of the normal  
cycle of life's pain and joys. Something unfair had been done to them,  
something unrelated to circumstance or eventuality. Hitomi didn't  
want to reshape the world as she saw fit. She just wanted to mend a  
problem, one tiny little problem. Was that so wrong?  
  
The penny's face in profile stared up at her as solemnly as she  
stared down at it.  
  
Oh, what the hell. It wouldn't work and no one was looking.  
Hitomi closed her eyes and clenched her fists and...  
  
Thinking it over later, she was always surprised at how silently the  
light came, like it's hard to remember that storm clouds gather  
noiselessly. The sky turned just electric with potential energy, with  
anticipation. The pulse of the air was audible. It quivered through her  
body, instantly recognizable. Hitomi had time to stand up and brush  
off her jeans before the light itself came.  
  
She didn't become weightless as much as the column was  
substantial and carried her by the force of its own weight. She moved  
quickly, at almost frightening speeds, but the light surrounded her,  
warm and safe and loving. Hitomi laughed out of joy as she was  
carried away.  
  
******  
  
They were being led on an official tour of the gardens for what the  
king had declared was a pleasant diversion from the conferences. Allen  
had no desire to be there although it wasn't from a lack of need.  
Relationships had been strained in almost every possible direction for  
the last few days. Allen had been encased in icy politeness at the talks,  
which thawed only slightly in the presence of Van and Celena. The  
latter, sensing something had happened and furious that no one  
would tell her what, had not been particularly cordial herself. Sarine  
had been snappish with her father and oddly meek around Van. Daelin  
had obviously been trying to remove himself from the sphere of  
negative emotions, keeping himself apart and aloof. And in the center  
of it all Van had been absent in everything but body. For as long as  
Allen had known him, Van was a collection of strained sinews and  
strained patience, tensed to the point of snapping with sheer purpose.  
For the last few days he had barely the energy to even be indifferent.  
He was just... vacant.  
  
Celena saw it first. She and Allen were walking arm in arm at the  
back of the procession, far enough away from the drone of Daelin's  
and Sarine's commentary to actually look at the gardens when he felt  
her hand drop from his arm. He looked back to see what was keeping  
her and his eyes became as wide and amazed as her own when he did.  
  
The pillar of light was behind a large stone tower almost at the  
other end of the expansive palace, but distance couldn't distort it.  
Allen heard Sarine gasp and Daelin say, "What in the world..." He  
sensed more that saw Van rock to a halt.  
  
"Onisama," Celena whispered. "Onisama, I've seen that before,  
haven't I? At the graveyard..."  
  
Van was standing tall, body wire taunt. His face was perfectly  
blank except his eyes were huge and luminous and trembling, like the  
moons reflected in water. The pendent shone blood red from under the  
thin material of his shirt.  
  
Allen gestured for Van's attention. He didn't get it.  
  
Then, slowly at first but gaining speed, a shape descended through  
the column. It was tiny, almost a doll's silhouette, but undeniably  
human.  
  
Van's expression was still stone, but suddenly he began to run as if  
the raw strength of his wings had been rerouted to his legs. A beat  
later, Allen joined him although he had no hope ofcatching up. He  
heard Celena sputtering behind him, then smiled in spite of himself as  
she hiked up her skirts and followed.  
  
*****  
  
Van felt his blood pounding in his ears to the beat of his feet  
pounding on the ground and refused to let himself think about where  
they were taking him. If he thought, he might slowed down or stop  
and he needed to get there. He needed to see.  
  
Still, the light was faster than he could ever be. She was on the  
ground, her back facing him, when he was still ten feet away. She  
stumbled forward a little before catching herself, turning her head from  
side to side.  
  
Van skidded to a halt. Breathing hard and afraid to move, he was  
suddenly filled with the irrational, consuming conviction that this  
wasn't happening. It must be some cruel delusion, and Hitomi would  
crumble to dust if he touched her. Finding that to be true would kill  
him and so he stood frozen.  
  
"Hi... Hitomi," he finally forced himself to say. It came out hoarse  
and low. "Hitomi."  
  
She turned around slowly, blinking huge green-gold eyes. It looked  
like Hitomi and it sounded like her when she shakily asked, "Van?"  
  
He nodded.  
  
Her smile was sunlight refracted through tears. "Van!"   
  
Then she was running forward and her arms were winding around  
his neck and her waist was solid and sweet beneath his hands. "Van,  
what-"  
  
"Did you-"  
  
"I don't think... there was a penny-"  
  
"But you couldn't have been near an energist-"  
  
"Did the pendant-"  
  
"Who cares?" Van's voice was too choked to distinguish between a  
laugh or a sob. "Who cares? You're here." He reached up to touch her  
cheek, almost shaking with the same vulnerable wonder that shone in  
his eyes. "You're here."  
  
"Oh God, Van," Hitomi hugged him tightly, burying her face in the  
crook of his neck. "I missed you. I missed you so much, Van."  
  
"Hitomi," he whispered so fiercely it could have been a promise,  
cradling the back of her head and hiding his face in her hair. "Hitomi."  
  
That's how Allen and Celena found them.  
  
Allen smiled through the tightness in his chest, pleased but acutely  
alone. He cast a worried glance at his sister. He doubted Celena had  
any romantic feelings towards Van, but she could often be quite  
possessive...  
  
Celena's hands were clasped in front of her chest. Here eyes were  
shining. "Beautiful," shesighed, completely contented. "Oh Allen,  
they're perfect. How couldn't you see it?"  
  
Allen scowled slightly. "They weren't exactly like this when I first  
knew them."  
  
And that's how Daelin and Sarine found them.  
  
The king stood several paces away, expression slowly but steadily  
turned into black thunder. "Allen-dono, would you be kind enough to  
tell me what exactly has happened here? And who," he indicated with  
a sour jerk of his head. "Is that?"  
  
Allen, seeing the many-faceted disastrous outcome of the situation,  
applied every speck of gentility and tact he had. "Your Majesty! Let  
me introduce you to *our* old companion Kanzaki Hitomi. Van!" he  
called out a little too sharply. "Introduce our hosts to Hitomi."  
  
Van turned his head around, disoriented. "What?"  
  
Allen leaned towards where Daelin and his daughter where  
standing, his mouth a thin line.  
  
Hitomi blinked in confusion, getting a good view of her  
surroundings for the first time. "Allen-san?"  
  
Allen's smile became a bit less forced. "Hello, Hitomi. How are  
you?"  
  
"Ano... fine? And you?"  
  
"Never better, Hitomi. Never better."  
  
Van scowled at the exchange. Then a hint of reality crept back into  
his brain, and he partially unwound himself from Hitomi, still holding  
her by the waist as they walked forward. "Hey, Sarine, Daelin, this is  
Hitomi. She won the Great War."  
  
"Really." Daelin nearly growled, a crouching tiger.  
  
Hitomi blushed and ducked her head, too flustered to give a  
proper. "Oh, not really. Van and Allen-san and his men and  
F..Folken-san did most of it. I only-" She stopped and looked up at  
Van who was gazing down at her steadily.  
  
"We did do it, didn't we?"she said softly. "Finally, together at the  
end..."  
  
Van grinned with stupid joy, and Hitomi giggled and threw her  
arms around his neck again, both giddy with the realization. To the  
amazement of many present Van picked her up and spun around, the  
outside world a haze through the champagne bubbles.  
  
Daelin could have modeled for vengeful warrior-god statues.  
  
"Hitomi was always a good friend of ours," Allen said loudly but  
thinly. "We all were quite close to her during the war."  
  
"Indeed." Daelin watched Van lean down to touch foreheads with  
her. "Some much closer than others, I imagine."  
  
Allen laughed weakly. Struck by a thought, he turned around to  
where Sarine had been standing silently behind them. The princess'  
arms were crossed. Her face was pinched, her eyes glittered hard and  
empty. She looked evil and old and dry, shriveled like a mummy  
entombed in its own spite. Allen almost shivered, wondering how he  
ever thought her beautiful.  
  
"I knew you'd be back," Van was whispering. "I always knew it."  
  
Hitomi smiled a trembling smile. After a moment's hesitation she  
stood on tip-toe, eyes closing in anticipation. Van leaned his head  
down slowly, unsure in one way but supremely certain in another...  
  
"Van!" Allen barked.  
  
Van swung around, glaring. "What?!"  
  
Once again Allen gestured broadly to the seething royalty, startling  
Van back into the present. He then turned to the king. "As you can  
surely understand, Highness, this is a most unexpected and serious  
development. If you would be so kind as to excuse us from the tour so  
we may discuss some matters in prive-"  
  
"Of course. You're dismissed," Sarine spoke, for the first time since  
coming to the clearing, before her father could answer. Then she  
glided away, as coldly beautiful and haughty as a swan. Daelin could  
only follow in her wake.  
  
Hitomi wiggled a little out of Van's grasp to give Allen a quick  
hello and an even briefer hug before returning to the younger man's  
side. "Ano... who were those people? And where are we? This isn't  
Fanelia or Asturia, is it?" Her eyes settled on Celena then blinked.  
"Eto..."  
  
"This," Allen interrupted so smoothly it didn't sound rude. "Is my  
sister Celena." He smiled at Hitomi's obvious surprise. "And the rest  
would be better discussed indoors. Right, Van?"  
  
"Ah."  
  
Celena bobbed a wobbly unpracticed curtsy. "I've heard so much  
about you, Hitomi-san! I'm so glad to meet you."  
  
Hitomi said a little uncertainly, "me too." But she smiled.  
  
Celena smiled back. "Let me be the first to welcome you to Gaea."  
  
End Part Three  
  



	4. Part 4: I With Mine

******************************************  
The Vision of Escaflowne: A Return to Gaea  
******************************************  
  
Part Four- I With Mine  
  
  
A solitude ten thousand fathoms deep  
Sustains the bed on which we lie, my dear:  
Although I love you, you will have to leap;  
Our dream of safety has to disappear.  
W.H. Auden  
  
  
  
*******  
  
urgent! situation critical! advice needed!  
  
shall be given. consider wisely.  
  
of course.  
  
reconnoiter immediately with council for a drastic change in  
plan.  
  
...drastic?  
  
events too unexpected to continue in current vein. dealing with  
something we know much less about than originally percieved.  
too dangerous.  
  
....  
  
disagree? warned you not to become too attached.  
  
not that! have spent more preparing for assignment than can be  
counted! refuse to abandon mission because superior has a soft  
spot for some human brat who misses her boyfriend!  
  
direct refusal to follow orders, then?  
  
... will meet with council shortly.  
  
shortly?  
  
leaving Daedalius now would cause suspicion. will come as  
soon as possible.   
  
agents will... keep watch over target?  
  
yes. original goal unchanged.   
  
permission for reassignment?  
  
denied.  
  
why?!  
  
personal feelings irrelevant in this issue. target had previous  
attachment. mission incomplete, not a failure. don't sulk.  
  
not!  
  
*****  
  
Hitomi, Allen noted dispassionately, looked beautiful.  
  
Although he had been enamored of her all those years ago,  
Hitomi's odd androgyny had made Allen incapable of judging her by  
his standards of attractiveness. Hitomi had been wonderful but too  
foreign and unrefined to associate with beauty.  
  
She was even wearing trousers now, dark thick ones meant for  
labor. Her shirt, though, was a sort of rose color and fit closely  
enough to show new slender but substantial curves. A thin gold chain  
glittering at her throat matched the one on her wrist and made the gold  
in her eyes sparkle and swirl. Hitomi's hair hadn't grown as much as it  
had been sculpted, cropped close on the sides but less so in the back,  
and her bangs were almost to her mouth, framing the angles of her  
face.  
  
Allen knew beauty in terms of cold, pale colors and delicacy  
and poise, but Hitomi's tender earthiness was undeniably lovely. The  
difference between her teenaged and current self wasn't surprising,  
really. She had grown into her features, settled into her body.  
  
She was sitting on Allen's bed with Van at her side, and the  
two never stopped touching. Hitomi would lean against his shoulder  
or Van would tilt his head until it touched hers or the back of their  
hands would brush together for a fraction of a heartbeat. Every  
movement was poetry.  
  
Although he found this behavior very sweet and satisfying  
there were serious matters to be discussed, and Allen was becoming  
irritated that he was the only lucid person in the room. Even Celena  
was propping her head up with her hands and smiling a dreamy smile.  
She always was a romantic.  
  
Allen said, "So you're not positive that you're responsible for  
coming here?"  
  
"What was that, Allen-san? Oh. No, not really. I mean, I  
wished on the penny but it didn't react to the pendant just now so that  
couldn't have been it, could it? I hadn't really expected it to work."  
Hitomi looked down at the penny still lying in her hand. She made a  
fist and opened it again, like a flower blooming. "It doesn't even have  
the same... feel as the pendant. It's just a coin."  
  
"Maybe it was just the power of the wish itself," Celena  
suggested. "Maybe you wanted to see Van so much you didn't need  
an energist."  
  
"Maybe Hitomi didn't have anything to do with it."  
  
"How's that?"  
  
Van continued, "It might be that it was just a coincidence that  
Hitomi wanted to come here before she came. Maybe this is all a result  
of some outside influence or something."  
  
"I think Van's right," Hitomi said. "Maybe not about me  
getting here, but things are happening that we don't know about, I just  
know it."  
  
"Do you have any idea of what they might be?" Allen asked.  
He knew better than to question Hitomi's hunches.  
  
She shook her head, and the room fell into silence.   
  
The inescapable, final truth was weighing down the air, and,  
after a time, Allen forced himself to say it. "You do know, though,  
that no matter what brought her here, Hitomi will have to go back  
home."  
  
"Of course," Van said too harshly. Hitomi touched his arm,  
and he began to explain in a polite, carefully controlled voice. "We  
agreed that she has to go back as soon as possible, but last time we  
used the energist from Escaflowne and we thought we should do that  
again. You know, to be safe."  
  
"We were planning on spending tonight here, then going to  
Fanelia tomorrow morning," Hitomi added softly.  
  
It was obviously a stall, yet the clunky sincerity behind it  
throbbed with heart. They were so young and so sweet, and they were  
asking for so little.  
  
"Feel free to use 'The Crusade' and her men," Allen told them.  
"And we should tell Daelin before you leave."  
  
Celena started. "Van's going away?"  
  
"Is something wrong with that, Celena-chan?"  
  
"... Of course not," Celena murmured, bunching up the  
material of her skirt, a thoughtful little crease lining her forehead.  
  
"Well then, we should probably just tell Daelin and get it over  
with."  
  
Van nodded and moved to follow the older man out the door,  
but checked himself. He bent down so his eye's were level with  
Hitomi's, who was still on the bed. "This'll take less than an hour.  
Want to hang out with Celena 'til I get back?"  
  
Hitomi answered to the affirmative, and there was a pause. A  
sense of suspended motion quivered in the air between them for a  
moment like heat, until Hitomi reached out and tapped his nose. Van  
blinked, then blushed, then hurried out of the room behind Allen.  
  
"We don't want to seem greedy about the rooming  
arrangement. Celena certainly wouldn't mind sharing hers for the  
night," Allen said in the hallway. He added as an after thought,  
"Unless you prefer that Hitomi sleep with you."  
  
Van didn't answer, turning crimson from his collarbone to his  
hairline.  
  
"For heaven's sake, man," Allen said, a bit testily. "You're  
older than twenty by a good five colors."  
  
Van shaded to mauve.  
  
******  
  
"... and the next thing I know, mud and geese are absolutely  
*everywhere* and Oniisama's giving me that 'I Am *Not* Pleased  
With This' look he has and most of the men immediately start doing  
whatever they can to not look suspicious, although Gadeth's just  
trying not to laugh, and that was the last time I tried to decorate  
Sherazarde, let me tell you."  
  
"... Ah," Hitomi said.  
  
Celena smiled beatifically.   
  
Hitomi leaned against her end of the window-seat they were  
sharing, squirming to find a position that didn't hurt her shoulder  
blades, and shading her eyes against the sun. The window was arched  
and tall, large enough to be the only one needed in the royal  
library.   
  
Celena had given her a tour of the grounds with horrific speed,  
cheerfully blatant about how she found both the palace and the job  
distasteful. Showing a guest around was probably necessitated by  
some Asturian rule of etiquette; there couldn't have been any other  
motivation to do it. She had then settled Hitomi and herself in the  
library for a good long talk because - she had said - libraries were  
comfortable places.  
  
Still, there had been a frantic undercurrent in Celena's chatter  
when she had all but pushed Hitomi in the opposite direction the few  
times they had heard approaching footprints in the hallways or the  
gardens. She was still talking with impressive speed, but Celena's tone  
was no longer guarded and her eyes no longer darted from side to side  
now that they were in this near fortress of a library. The Gaean girl  
had pulled something off, and Hitomi wondered if Celena was hiding -  
or hiding her - from something. Then again, Celena might have just  
wanted to demonstrate how the sunlight played off her hair like it  
would ice.  
  
Allen's sister really was an exquisite creature, like an animated  
china doll or all the girls Hitomi had been jealous of in junior high  
rolled into one. Prickles of the feeling were coming back to her  
now; she wished she had a clearer estimate of how much time Van  
spent with this girl. But that was just silly social instinct -- Hitomi  
would  
have known the instant Van developed the germ of an attraction to  
anyone else; and Celena kept breaking off her monologue to give  
Hitomi fond little smiles, cooing, "You two are absolutely *perfect*  
for each other!"   
  
And, in general, something was trustworthy about Celena  
Shezar although Hitomi couldn't define it beyond an open sort of  
charisma. It would have been nice to stay here long enough for them  
to have become friends.  
  
Hitomi asked, "so, how is Allen-san?" to maintain the flow of  
conversation.  
  
"Oh, fine, fine. He's a little tired from all the wedding  
preparations and stressed from all the stuff going on here, but he's  
handling it well."  
  
"Wedding preparations?"  
  
Celena tilted her head to the side. "Van didn't tell you?"  
  
"Van couldn't really *tell* me anything..."  
  
Celena clapped her hands together in girlish glee, then loudly  
cracked her knuckles. "I guess it's up to me to fill you in. Allen's soon  
going to be king of all Asturia and lord of his lady's heart. Although  
though this particular lady will probably demand some sort of deed to  
be signed in order to possess her heart."  
  
"Oh." Hitomi examined how she felt about that and was  
pleasantly relieved that she felt almost nothing at all. If anything it was  
nice, another happy ending. "Would you give Millerna-san my  
congratulations?"  
  
"Alright." Celena wrinkled her nose. "But why?"  
  
Hitomi paused. "Didn't you say Allen was going to be king  
after he was married?"  
  
"Yes. What does that have to do with Millerna-hime?"  
  
She felt a headache coming on. "If they're getting married-"  
  
"Oh, I understand," Celena interrupted in significant tones.  
"Allen's going to be crowned after he's married to Eries-hime. Van  
has *not* kept you abreast of local gossip. I'll have to reprimand  
him."  
  
"Eries-san...?" Hitomi could only say.  
  
"Oh indeed. It's an epic tragedy of a story except it has a  
happy ending. I'm even heavily featured. See, what happened was,"  
she launched the tale without bothering to ask if Hitomi wanted to  
hear it. "After the war was over, Allen and I went back to our old  
family home until things were sorted out, and Oniisama spent a lot of  
time with Eries-hime planning on how to rebuild things, since he was  
an important and pretty knight and a recent war hero and all and she  
was the princess. Millerna-hime was out in the countryside, tending to  
wounded peasants, or something like that."  
  
"So Oniisama was spending most of his time with Oneisama,  
and he got to thinking about how she was the first person he went to  
when..." She halted momentarily. "When I first came back and how  
much he trusted her opinion and how smart and pretty she is, and he  
thought that maybe chasing after Millerna-hime and Marlene-hime had  
prevented him from seeing who his true princess was. So, one day he  
corners her in the throne room and kisses her hand and proposes."  
  
"That's sweet," Hitomi said. "So they've been so busy they  
haven't had time to get married until now?"  
  
"No." Celena smirked. "She turned him down."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Really."  
  
"She didn't love Allen?"  
  
"Of course she did. Eries-hime once told me that she loved him  
the first moment she saw him. All quite romantic, really."  
  
"So what happened?"  
  
"Eries-hime told him that he obviously had emotional issues,  
and she had no interest in being his romantic crutch until he was  
secure enough to make his next conquest."  
  
Hitomi drew her knees up to her chest. "Poor Allen."  
  
"That's what Oniisama thought too. So, thus chastened, he  
came back home and sulked for a good three weeks, during which  
time he decided he wasn't meant for love. He then went back to the  
palace and apologized for his presumptuous behavior and worked  
dedicatedly and consciously for the public good for a year and a half."  
  
Celena's voice was mocking but a little affectionate smile  
tugged on the corners of her mouth. She wasn't out to hurt Allen.  
Celena was teasing her brother for the sake of teasing him, and that,  
more than any interaction she saw between them, convinced Hitomi  
that they had become real siblings. "So then what happened?"  
  
"Well, from what I can tell, they actually grew to be very close  
friends. It was probably the first time Oniisama ever realized his  
romantic interest was a real per... Oh. I'm sorry. I forgot."  
  
Hitomi felt her cheeks turn pink. "No, it's alright."  
  
"Okay," Celena said, relieved but still slightly embarrassed. "So  
anyway, after two years away from court, Millerna-hime came back. I  
was there during her welcoming celebration and she, well, made it  
clear that she was still interested in Oniisama. Oniisama was acting  
funny though, frowning and kinda pensive. So around midnight Eries-  
hime retreats to the garden - she's pretty anti-social, she does that sort  
of thing a lot - and Oniisama follows her. Then..."  
  
"Then?"  
  
"I'm a little sketchy on the details, but Allen confessed his love  
again. He even apologized that he had been so cruel to her in the past;  
and said that she had no reason to forgive his former carelessness, and  
he would gladly reverse their situations and love *her* from afar for  
the rest of their lives if that would be sufficient justice. He told her she  
was a wonderful person, and she was nothing like Hahuae or Marlene-  
hime or me."  
  
Hitomi could see it clearly. The garden, warm and dark and  
fragrant, with lily pools turned to liquid silver by the moon; Allen and  
Eries, standing a distance apart but focused only on one another, the  
summer breeze toying with their hair; Allen's voice, velvet and  
hesitant, blending into the night as he told her his final understanding  
of his heart; Eries' wise, sad eyes trembling in the starlit dark. "So  
what happened next?"  
  
"She turned him down again."  
  
"Geez!" Hitomi said in a puff. "Why?"  
  
"Millerna-hime still loved him or thought she loved him. Eries-  
hime would never do anything to hurt her sister, and she certainly  
didn't want Allen going around breaking her heart. But she did tell  
him that she loved him too, and she asked him to wait a little while  
until Millerna was mature enough to accept their relationship.  
Oniisama agreed."  
  
Hitomi settled into the back of her seat before she realized she  
had been leaning forward. "And they just waited?"  
  
"For another year. It was really an awful thing to watch.  
Millerna would come every few months and make eyes at Allen, who  
would always politely refuse all advances. Meanwhile, he and Eries  
would be gazing pitifully at each other, and everything they said was  
tinged with longing and had a double meaning. You could have  
choked on the atmosphere. And that's," her voice turned lilting.  
"When I stepped in."  
  
"I like Millerna-hime, honestly I do, but she was making her  
Oneisama and my Oniisama miserable, even if it was inadvertently.  
She's usually pretty smart and perceptive. It's a wonder she never  
picked up on their relationship on her own."  
  
"Some people get blinded by love, I guess," Hitomi offered.  
  
"Yes. I guess so. Anyway, I don't want to tell you the details  
because Oniisama'd kill me if her ever found out - not that I'm  
implying you'll do anything; discretion has just always served me well  
before - but Millerna-hime and I had tea one afternoon, and two days  
later she announced that she was abdicating the throne in favor of her  
older sister, who, partnered with her future husband, wound be much  
wiser rulers than she. And, without another word, she spun around on  
her heels and left the palace and devoted herself to the hospital."  
  
Millerna was kind. Sometimes she hid it behind her station,  
which was cool and glittering and remote, but she was inherently kind.  
That sort of sacrifice took more strength and heart than Hitomi  
thought she ever could have.  
  
Then the end of Celena's speech caught up with her. Hitomi  
asked, "new hospital?"  
  
"Van didn't tell y... I should really stop asking that, shouldn't  
I? Millerna-hime heads the first Asturian hospital open to the masses,  
inspired by the one she helped build in Fanelia."  
  
"Fanelia has a hospital?" Hitomi wouldn't have thought Fanelia  
was large enough to *need* a hospital.  
  
But Celena nodded. "It was Van's idea. A couple years back,  
he came to Asturia, official visit, and asked Millerna if she would help  
him make some sort of center where people could go if they were hurt  
or sick, since she was probably the only person he knew who knows  
about that kind of stuff. It was a few months after Aston-sama's death,  
and Millerna-hime said that helping people and being useful would  
take her mind off things; and in Asturia a princess must be twenty-one  
before she can be crowned queen, so I also got the feeling she didn't  
have anything else to do."  
  
Hitomi nodded, wandering lost inside the vast and important  
events, the sheer amount of *things*, that must have happened after  
she left. If she and Van had not been as close as they had, how easily  
could he have set her memory aside in the excitement of creating a  
new order?  
  
"It's a good hospital," Celena said into the growing silence --  
all pauses were awkward in her eyes. "I mean, I don't exactly have a  
lot to judge it by, but a lot of people go there and most of them get  
better, and there's even a cart full of medicine that goes travels the  
outlying towns, since the people there can't go into the capital all that  
often."  
  
"Fanelia has a capital? Since when?"  
  
"Since two years ago," said Van from the doorway, leaning  
against the frame with elaborate casualty. "Seaside was growing like  
crazy and starting to compete with Castle over supply distributions.  
Things were getting tense, so I declared Castle the capital of Fanelia,  
which protected its superiority for all time, and that was that."  
  
Hitomi whispered, "oh."  
  
The air in the room was turning humid with romance. Celena  
stood up, brushing off her dress. "I'll leave you two alone now. Don't  
do anything I wouldn't do, but you'll have fun if you try some things  
Oniisama would."  
  
Walking down the hallway, Celena smiled when she realized  
neither of them had spared the time to answer.  
  
*****  
  
Allen had a gift for confrontations. He knew how to prevent  
them and diffuse them and provoke them; when they were imminent or  
avoidable or necessary. He had a great deal of patience and a good  
sense of time and a keen feel for people, and right now he felt betrayed  
by all of them.  
  
The afternoon's meeting with Daelin had gone as he had  
expected it to. Van barely said anything, just stared very dreamily into  
space, grinning a goofy little grin which he wore so unnaturally it  
seemed almost grotesque. It was only natural, under normal  
circumstances it would have been refreshing, but it had required some  
presence of mind not to smack him over the head after Allen's entire  
repatiore of subtler hints failed to penetrate Van's smile.  
  
Daelin was stiff and hostile but poised, like a wounded cat. He  
had made no objections to Van's departure, of course, going so far as  
to offer to provide the transportation for the couple, which Allen  
politely declined for them almost by habit. Several awkward thoughts  
were almost spoken, but the speaker always trailed off in time to save  
face and the meeting had ended without confrontation.  
  
Allen had been relieved. That was the situation seeded with the  
most peril, and, if Hitomi did not make a scene or offend someone  
(she would never purposefully do that) and if she and Van left first  
thing the next morning (grudgingly, but they would go) and if Van  
came back immediately (he was too honorable to do anything else) her  
arrival would be, if not meaningless, than an essentially neutral event.  
  
Now, as he sat in the banquet room, picking at his food with  
Celena on his right and an Asturian dignitary on his left, Allen realized  
he had always overestimated both Van's and Hitomi's sense of tact.  
  
They hadn't shown up for dinner. Their absence was barely  
hinted at, but all the daylight in the world was concentrated on the  
room's two only unoccupied chairs.  
  
Beside him, Celena was a whirlwind of conversation with  
Sarine, whom Allen had heard her call an 'evil slimy ferret of a bimbo'  
as late as midday yesterday. She was preventing the princess from  
leaving the table or asking any dangerous questions, which was as  
obvious as Sarine's fury that etiquette required her to cow to such a  
shameless ploy. Allen was glad his sister was getting a chance to enjoy  
herself if nothing else remotely positive happened here tonight.  
  
The plan was still salvageable provided Van and Hitomi still  
left early tomorrow morning and Van came back tomorrow night. The  
only unknown factor still troubling Allen was how Van and  
Hitomi were fulfilling the promise of this night, and if it would be   
embarrassing to get caught in the middle of. He knew what most   
young, reunited couples would do if blessed with their opportunity,   
but Hitomi and Van were two variables in his world of constants.   
Their actions were not determined by what they had done before   
or what was expected of them or even what was not expected of them.   
They were ruled by forces too honest and vivid for that.   
  
Allen took a sip of vinu in an imaginary toast to whatever  
those two were doing. May they enjoy the memory of it in the years to  
come.  
  
******  
  
"And that's the Great Northern Lizard," Van said, pointing to  
another unintelligible cluster of stars. "See, those two all the way to  
right are the tip of his tail, and that really bright one up and to the left  
is its eye."  
  
"I think constellations only make sense if you grew up with  
them," Hitomi confessed. "I wish I could show you some of the ones I  
know, but Gaea's positioned differently than Earth."   
  
She spread the coat, which Van had gotten for her when the night  
had become cold, across all four of their tangled legs; then put her  
head on his shoulder, both supporting their backs against the trunk of  
the big black tree they were nestling under. "Tell me some more,  
Van?"  
  
"I think I'm running out. No wait, look south and off to the  
right. See that big star that looks kind of purple? That's Yunma's eye.  
Yunma was supposed to be the Creator, according to old Asturian  
stories. She keeps watch on all the world through that star."  
  
Hitomi gazed up at it, her green eyes cool as they reflected the  
night sky. "It's a warm color. That's good. All stars are beautiful but  
most look so flat. It's nice that she chose a livelier color to look  
through."  
  
Van wondered if there was a physical limit to happiness; if  
there was only so much a body could take before its inside parts burst.  
He couldn't ever remember being happier than he was now, and his  
whole body ached. It was a warm ache, like Hitomi's head was warm  
and heavy on his shoulder, and Van didn't care if his insides *did*  
burst.  
  
"This is nice," Hitomi said, the words stretched and soft  
because she was sleepy. Van had always thought that she had a pretty  
voice. Back then, she would hum or sing to herself when she thought  
she was alone. The few times Van had walked in on her, she had  
looked horrified and blushed and the note she was on would die  
squawking in her throat. (She had been embarrassed, he knew now.  
She had thought he would think her childish and silly.) To hear her  
sing he had had to stand outside the door or covered in the shadows,  
so she would feel secure in her solitude.  
  
It had puzzled him then why Hitomi would only sing when no  
one could hear it. He didn't understand, and it made him uneasy for  
reasons he'd dare not contemplate. Van remembered the exact  
moment of the exact day he realized why he had disliked it so much  
while finding it so compelling.   
  
Two years ago, Van had been having one of the soon to be  
highly significant conversations with Merle about how one might go  
about building additions to the wheat farmer towns, where the  
workers' children could be kept safe and entertained while their  
parents were out in the fields. Hitomi had been cramming her head full  
of knowledge, which she did far too much in Van's opinion.  
Unconnected, barely coherent ideas would float into his head, and  
nothing interrupted a day's work like needing to sit down and think  
strange thoughts sparked by an alien philosophy he could barely scrape  
the surface of.  
  
There was music somewhere near her. It was diverting her  
attention from storing facts and she was struggling to get it back. It  
made Van think of her old singing, and he wondered, very distinctly so  
she would know it was a question, what was the point of singing if no  
one could hear you.  
  
The flow of information had stopped then. Hitomi's grey fog  
of confusion drifted through him. She tried to but couldn't answer him  
with an idea. She couldn't identify with the reasoning behind the  
question. Although she didn't think she felt any particular way about it  
Van could feel a core part of her that was a little indignant and very  
righteous and very sad on his behalf.   
  
There wasn't a *point*, it had said. Why should there be? I like  
to sing. It makes me happy and the world a little gentler, even if I'm  
the only one who hears me. What's so wrong and confusing about  
doing something simply because you like to?  
  
And just like that he had understood. Hitomi took joy in the things  
surrounding her simply because she could feel or see or touch or do  
them. He had wanted that so badly, and he had hated the wanting in  
himself.  
  
He felt her sigh, the rise and fall or her torso and the breath on  
his collarbone. Van put his head on top of hers. The muscles in her  
back relaxed and she cuddled closer to him.  
  
It wasn't that Hitomi was innocent; she had seen most of what  
he had seen and much he had not been there to see. A lot of her  
memories were filled with truly gruesome violence, although she had  
assured him that most of it was just play-acting and she was so  
indifferent towards them that Van believed her. Still, on her world and  
on Gaea, Hitomi had known great ugliness. It also wasn't because she  
was happy. Van didn't like it when she was sad but she was often  
deeply so. Privately, Van admitted that was better than if she was too  
vapid to appreciate sad things.  
  
  
Maybe it was because Van had always known he was a symbol  
and, as such, he had no right to try to be a person. It hadn't been hard  
or crippling for him growing up because no one else had thought of  
him as a person either. Balgus protected him and taught him and loved  
him, but Van couldn't remember Balgus asking him how he was, or  
even a real question, when he wasn't injured or ill. Merle was the  
greatest little sister a guy could ask for, but she thought he already  
knew everything there was to know. She respected him enough to give  
him his distance when Van told her he didn't want to talk about it.  
  
Van had never wanted to talk about it.  
  
Then there was this weird girl, who looked like she was trying  
to be a boy, with a crooked, thoughtful smile and an ability to see into  
the hidden, bleeding, depths of memory. He hadn't wanted to talk or  
think about her either because doing so twisted a kaleidoscope inside  
him, jumbled up the reasons behind his life. Everything had hurt back  
then; hurt like mountains cracking and collapsing, the rubble sinking  
into an eternity of lava. He had been so angry, with only the broadest  
idea about who or why. It had been a time of fire and enemies.  
  
Hitomi thought about light when she thought about fire. She  
saw enemies as people who did not know each other well enough to  
understand why they should be friends. Yet somehow, out of all the  
places she could be right now, she was watching him point out half-  
remembered constellations and falling asleep on his shoulder. Van's  
chest ached so much the pain almost felt sharp.  
  
"Isn't this nice, Van?" Her voice had taken on a drowsy sing-  
song quality. Her eyes were falling shut.  
  
"Yeah," Van said. The chill of the night was making her shiver, He  
rubbed the shoulder his arm was wrapped around. "It's nice."  
  
*****  
  
They came back inside the palace a little after two. Hitomi,  
whose day had been tiring by anyone's standards, fell asleep in her  
clothes and halfway off the spare cot someone must have had sent to  
Celena's room before Van had time to step inside the doorway,  
relieving the possibility of doing whatever it was Allen had suggested  
that afternoon. That was something of a relief. He adjusted her until  
she was lying fully on the bed and covered her with a blanket before  
going to find Celena to confirm with her that she had a roommate.  
  
He went to Allen's room because thinking about anyplace else  
Celena might be was a harrowing idea this early in the morning.  
Candlelight was flickering under the door. Coupled with the rising  
voices behind it, the door was just ajar enough to suggest someone  
had slammed it shut so fiercely it had bounced against the frame and  
opened again. Voices were only just audible, but listening to them was  
like adjusting to the trickle of a stream and Van began to hear  
variations of tone and inflection. There was a high, angry voice, and a  
calmer, lower one that was just beginning to take on an edge.  
  
Van had never really had or seen a family argument, but he  
correctly assumed that they were intensely private things. He turned to  
go, when he could just make out, "... to me, Oniisama!  
I'm not saying this is a matter of honor. Van can't afford to have his  
honor question and he knows it."  
  
"Then why are you so worried about his leaving? Van knows  
where he belongs and how badly he's needed. His loyalty is  
impeccable--"  
  
"I'm not taking about that either! Didn't you say yourself that  
the power of the Mystic Valley is in wishing for what you really desire  
the most? Of course Van knows his place; that doesn't have anything  
to do with how much he wants to be there. He's got the same problem  
you do about confusing duty and fulfillment. Van's king. Van's a great  
king, but he isn't a happy king."  
  
Allen started to speak, paused, then started again. "Do you  
remember that old saying, 'the best leader is the one least suited to  
lead'?"  
  
"Now you're getting it!"  
  
"I agree Van is a powerful man because he hates the concept  
of absolute power, but you're not giving him full credit. Of course he  
want Hitomi to stay or to stay with Hitomi, but if forced to choose  
between her and Fanelia, there's no question he would choose his  
country."  
  
"Logically he would. End of story. But when have star-crossed  
lovers been logical?"  
  
"Hitomi left without him once before."  
  
"Yeah, and they were so miserable without each other she  
wished herself back on a completely ordinary object. They're going to  
use an energist tomorrow, and those have actual power. Did you see  
the two of them together this afternoon, Oniisama? I've never seen  
Van that happy. I've barely seen Van anything approaching just plain  
happy before, but I've only seen people act like he did today under the  
influence of-"  
  
"Celena!"  
  
"Sorry. Anyway, Van would *choose* Fanelia, but he *wants*  
Hitomi. And isn't the wanting what really matters in this case?"  
  
Allen paused again. When he spoke next he didn't sound  
convinced, but he was considering the matter. "Even knowing all  
this, what could we do? We can't prevent him from leaving, and even  
if we did through some miracle, if this is as serious as you seem to  
believe, it would only prolong the inevitable."  
  
Celena didn't answer immediately. "I don't know. Van's our  
friend. I'm sure you want him to be as happy as I do; if he wasn't so  
important I'd be helping him pack right now. But we need him. Gaea  
needs him. He's holding it together with his bare hands. I... just don't  
know."  
  
Van left soundlessly from the direction he had come, a heavy  
stone in the pit of his stomach and an iron clamp on the memories of  
the past ten minutes.  
  
******  
  
They were going to do this as quickly and unobtrusively as  
possible. Van woke her up, to get dressed and eat something, before  
dawn. He also woke Celena by what he claimed was an accident. She  
threw a pillow at his head with impressive force and accuracy before  
going back to sleep.  
  
The 'Crusade' was prepared and ready when they arrived at  
the landing bay. Allen had told her the previous day that it was usually  
a four hour journey from here to Fanelia -- at top speed, it could be  
shortened to a little over three. Judging by the uncharacteristic grim  
efficiency of the crew as they worked, they had been instructed to  
arrive in Fanelia in an hour and a half.  
  
In a way, this almost felt like the last day of summer camp.  
Hitomi had always woken up early to say goodbye to friends from  
Osaka before they left, when the before-dawn sky was always grey  
and grainy. She would spend hours wandering around the campus,  
saying goodbye as friends trickled out of her life. They were all were  
perpetually hysterically teary, hoping their parents would come soon  
while being so angry at them for taking them away. Every single year,  
no matter how blue the sky was by noon, it never stopped being grey  
and coarse, like very old black-and-white photographs of people with  
ramrod spines and unsmiling eyes. Hitomi had hated that sky; it only  
tolerated farewells.   
  
She looked at Van, who was standing beside her, but he was  
staring up at the airship, his face unreadable. It was going to take  
some adjustment to figure out what he was feeling instead of  
automatically knowing. But there was neither time nor reason to  
adjust, was there?  
  
Then, Hitomi realized with a jolt that she would most probably  
never have any sort of contact with Van again. They still weren't  
connected and coming back again would be futile and dangerous. She  
had known all this since yesterday but had been too bewildered and  
ecstatic to let herself understand it.  
  
Frost was beginning to line the inside of Hitomi's stomach, and  
her chest felt thin and tight, filling up with a balloon. Why had she  
been allowed to come here? What was the point? To say one final  
goodbye to Van before he married the most beautiful princess in the  
land and had a herd of skinny, wild-eyed princelings?  
  
It wasn't fair. It wasn't right.  
  
"You ready?" Van's voice was as quiet as she'd ever heard it.  
In the near absence of light he looked old and tired and scared. Van  
wasn't savoring this anymore than she was.  
  
She tried to smile, although the end result didn't feel like a  
smile. "Why not?"  
  
Van shrugged. "I don't know," he said irritably, and he didn't  
look back at her as he boarded the 'Crusade'.  
  
Hitomi made a face at his back. Van couldn't have seen it, but  
the gesture was one of general defiance and it gave her the self-  
righteousness she needed to be able to march into the airship. Before  
the hatch closed, Hitomi had one last glimpse of the sky. It was   
vibrant, an internally lit dark blue; the color of spring days before the  
sun has had time to rise.  
  
*****  
  
Van wasn't talking to her. He didn't seem to be mad  
or even sulking, just staring at the floor a few inches in front of  
where they sat on an unoccupied section of the bridge, behind a  
lifeboat. They had gone there for privacy. In hindsight, since they  
weren't speaking or touching or even really looking at each other, it  
seemed like a silly, unnecessary thing to have done.  
  
The balloon-tightness in Hitomi's chest was spreading. She  
was twitchy and impatient, going stir-crazy more from tension than  
from time. She looked over at Van, who was lost in his private galaxy  
of grief, and suddenly felt new resolve not to let their last few hours  
together be this miserable.  
  
"Give me your hand," she said suddenly.  
  
Van turned his head around slowly, seemingly too lethargic to  
bother with anything more. "What?"  
  
"Give me your hand," Hitomi repeated, holding out her own.  
  
Van raised a eyebrow, finding this all very suspect, but he  
gingerly laid his hand atop hers. Hitomi turned it palm-side up, biting  
her lip. A friend had taught her to read palms when she was eleven or  
twelve, but Hitomi had been too loyal to her tarot cards to master any  
other occult art. Eight years later, she had only wisps of memory to  
instruct her. Hitomi bent her head down low, strands of her hair  
brushing against his hand.  
  
After a minute or so, she traced the thinnest arch on his hand  
with her fingernail. "It goes all the way up. You're going to live a long  
time."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"That's your life line. All the lines in your hand represent an  
aspect of your future."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"I don't know. I don't pretend to know about that kind of stuff  
anymore." She laughed a little, but they both sensed it touched upon  
something true and sad. They lapsed into silence again. Van, however,  
did not try to reclaim his hand.  
  
Hitomi examined it minutely. It was broad and square, larger  
and tougher than her own. Thick calluses lined the base of his fingers  
and his fingertips. A working man's hand. Looking at if for  
probably too long a time, Hitomi though she saw something a little off  
about the configuration of the creases in his palm. They looked askew,  
on-center instead of arching into his fingers. She peered closer and  
then closer again until her nose almost touched his hand, when she  
recognized the abnormality. A thin white-red line ran across the center  
of Van's palm, parallel to his wrist. She looked back up and smiled at  
his confusion, as if he thought that her behavior might have been some  
sort of Terrian courtship ritual.   
  
"That must have been a bad cut. What happened?"  
  
Van's expression shifted again. He looked down, raking his  
fingers through his hair, a little sheepish. "I picked up a sword by the  
blade."  
  
"The blade?"  
  
"I was only four," Van said quickly, not the first time he had  
ever had to use that defense. "I didn't really like swords when I was a  
little kid. I thought that maybe if I spent time around them before I had  
to go through actual training I might get used to them and be less...  
and like them more. So, when no one was looking, I snuck into the  
armory, where there was this big, heavy sword propped up on the wall  
next to me. I tried to lift it up, but it fell out of the sheath. So I tried to  
pick it off of the ground by the hilt, but it was too heavy. The blade  
looked a lot lighter so I tried that. Anuaue found me screaming my  
head off and... what's wrong?"  
  
She didn't know if she could articulate the emotion welling up  
inside her. Even if she could, it was not something Van would want or  
need to hear, so she just tucked her chin into her chest and sniffled and  
blinked in hard, rapid succession in reflex to immanent tears.  
  
Confused and a little insecure but fairly certain he should do  
something, Van put an awkward arm around her and drew her in.  
Hitomi buried her head in his chest, still almost but not quite crying.  
Van readjusted so Hitomi could get closer, and she wrapped her arms  
around him, and he wrapped his other arm around her too. It was  
suddenly the most natural position either of them had ever been in.  
  
She felt a little embarrassed to have done something as definitively  
girly as bursting into tears for no apparent reason. There was a reason,  
it was just so apparent that people didn't even bother to notice it  
anymore. She should be glad she was teary; someone needed to  
mourn.  
  
Van didn't deserve his life. He should have been able to grow  
up surrounded by a family that made sure to tell him he was loved and  
worth loving. He should have been allowed to have a childhood. He  
never should have felt ashamed for being a gentle person. It wasn't  
fair. It wasn't right that Van had needed to harden himself against his  
innate kindness.  
  
"It really didn't hurt much," he was saying lamely. "Anuaue found  
me right away, and I only needed a couple of stitches."  
  
Hitomi smiled against his shirt before she lifted her head up.  
"I'm sorry I did that. I'm okay now."  
  
"Okay," Van said. Neither of them moved.  
  
"You'll be really surprised when you see Fanelia." Van sounded shy  
initiating small talk for what was likely the first time in his life. "It's  
grown a lot."  
  
"Celena was telling me about it earlier. She said you built a  
hospital."  
  
"I didn't build it," Van modested. "I just introduced the idea  
and it sort of got itself built in a hurry."  
  
"Uhuh."  
  
"Really." There was a long, comfortable pause, the kind  
between people confident in each other's silence.  
  
"Van," Hitomi said presently. "You weren't planning on giving  
me a tour or something, were you?"  
  
"Did you want one?"  
  
"Did you plan one?"  
  
"I hadn't thought about it. If you want-"  
  
"No," Hitomi said quietly. "I don't think I do. It might be nice  
in a way, but..."   
  
She didn't want to make this more painful than it already was.  
She didn't want to see what she was losing. She didn't want to see  
what she had lost to.  
  
She felt Van nod and wondered if he could possibly  
understand. But in the quiet dark, listening to his heartbeat, it didn't  
seem to matter.  
  
It wasn't fair and it wasn't right, but the past meant nothing  
and it was not her place to say what the future would be. All she knew  
was that at this instant she and Van were holding each other like it was  
nothing unusual at all.  
  
And maybe that was good enough for now.  
  
*****  
  
The rumor was one of the Fanalian pages had gone into hysterics  
the night before. It was not a very widespread or appealing rumor -  
who cares about a page? - but it was prolific enough to reach Celena a  
little after noon.  
  
Ren had been sedated heavily. He was still sleeping when  
Celena visited him in the guest pages' quarters, bringing a plush dog  
that was the current fashionable toy in Asturia. She put it on a table  
and asked the nurse watching him to tell Ren who had brought it when  
he woke up. Then, casually as if it wasn't very important, Celena  
asked about what had happened.  
  
"It was the strangest thing," the Nurse said. "He just started  
cryin' and cryin' like his little heart was going to break into pieces.  
Usually when they're this age they do this sort of thing for attention,  
but he went on like someone had died."  
  
"Did he just cry? Or did he try to say things while he was  
crying?"  
  
"Once or twice. 'He left us,' or 'He's not coming back.' Stuff  
along those lines. Did his father abandon him, do you think?"  
  
"I think," said Celena, watching Ren shift in his sleep. "That  
would be a great deal less traumatic than what I think we're all going  
to go through soon."  
  
******  
  
Escaflowne had not changed. Hitomi hadn't been expecting it to,  
but everything surrounding the guymelef had grown passed  
recognition and its familiarity was almost jarring.   
  
The graveyard had expanded. The more people there are to  
bury, the bigger the graveyard has to be, as Van had said, so matter of  
fact that the statement didn't seem morbid until she thought about it.  
The lawn was greener and trimmed finer than she remembered. There  
were statues perched throughout the rows of tombstones, so elegant  
and dignified they looked almost out of place.  
  
The energist sat on a pedestal in the dead center of the plot,  
covered with a glass case. Although Escaflowne itself hadn't been  
altered, it was on a marble platform which bore the simple inscription,  
'May We Never Have Use For It Again.'  
  
"Do you like it?" Van asked in an almost shy, little boy voice,  
as if he expected her not to and that would hurt his feelings. "Perione  
planned this all out a few years ago, and it didn't seem like it could do  
any harm, so I let him."  
  
The balloon in Hitomi's chest had started expanding again. It took  
effort to say, "I think Folken-san would like the platform."  
  
Van didn't say anything, just looked at her with a terrible little  
smile that was struggling to be a bigger smile. "Are you ready?"  
  
What kind of question was that? As if there was anything she  
could do to prepare. The balloon was swelling into her throat so  
Hitomi answered with just a nod. Van nodded back. They stood there  
for almost a full minute, not even rationalizing their procrastination,  
before he went to get the energist.   
  
Seeing it in his hands made a claw grab her heart. Hitomi  
wanted to cling to him crying, beg him not to send her away. It  
was childish, but the situation was absurd enough to benefit from a  
toddler's perspective. But Van was as helpless against this as she was.  
When he came back she hugged him tightly.  
  
They stayed locked in the embrace for a long time. Each  
second of it was just a second closer to leaving. That was painful, but  
not as painful as the idea of letting go. Hitomi finally pulled back a  
little, just to look at him, although she didn't release his neck. His eyes  
were liquid soft, focused only on her, exactly as they had been the last  
time she had seen them in this place.   
  
Hitomi and Van were both shy and skittish about anything  
new, but they had spent the time to hesitate. He leaned down and she  
leaned up, and they finally, finally kissed. They were both  
inexperienced, the kiss was awkward and clumsy and Hitomi couldn't  
imagine anything in her life being so perfect again.  
  
They hugged again after that, a short, tight, desperate hug.  
Van raised the energist above his head.  
  
There was no pillar of light. There was barely even a flash. There  
was only an empty graveyard and a red jewel lying where it had fallen  
on the ground, winking in the sunlight.  
  
End Part Four 


	5. Part 5: Iris

******************************************  
The Vision of Escaflowne: A Return to Gaea  
******************************************  
  
  
Part Five -- Iris  
  
  
And thus thy memory is to me  
Like some enchanted far-off isle  
In some tumultuous sea --  
Some ocean throbbing far and free  
With storms -- but where meanwhile  
Serenest skies continually  
Joust o'er that one bright Island smile.  
Edgar Allen Poe  
  
*****  
  
Ren didn't know whether Van-sama's departure had woken him up  
or if he now only felt Van-sama's absence because he was awake.  
Either way the king was gone, leaving Ren's world too empty and  
black and ugly for him to care about anything but that central truth.  
  
The beds here were as hard as they were at home, but here the  
rooms were built out of stone instead of wood. Everything was too  
dark. Ren stared at the dark ceiling of the dark quarters, thinking  
about how the rest of his life would be this murky without the light  
and sparkle that Van-sama left in his wake, that gathered on  
everything the king touched. He bit his lip hard, to keep from crying.   
  
Ren barely ever cried. He had stopped after finding out that it  
always made Otousan use the poker and use it harder and longer if  
Ren kept crying. Ren didn't want to give Otousan an excuse.   
  
Because Otousan and Okaasan and the Nurse had really been  
beating him for asking Okaasan why she was streaked with grey today  
or what had turned Oniisan a dirty, pussy shade. They never ever  
talked about it when Ren said things like that, not even to tell him that  
they were punishing him for it. All Ren knew was that the colors  
around people and animals and plants were bad and he was bad for  
talking about them.   
  
Ren had been a stupid little kid -- he'd thought everyone could see  
the colors too. When he had gotten bigger, he had figured out that  
no one else could see the colors and it scared them that he could. So  
he stopped talking about them, but that didn't make the colors  
themselves go away, didn't make them any less flat and ugly. Ren  
remembered home as snarling faces and bad smells and muddy browns  
and yellows, and then he would make himself think about something  
else.  
  
Being a page was much nicer than being a son. He liked the castle.  
There were usually three meals every day, and he was big enough to  
bully his way into an empty pallet most nights. The other pages and  
the squires, streaked with vibrant reds and oranges, were fun. The  
instructors were nice enough to hit them for real reasons, and had  
fascinating swirling greens and golds. Some had dark splotches and  
streaks in the corners.  
  
But, best of all, everything on the palace grounds, nearly  
everything in Fanelia, was dusted with something so special and pretty  
it didn't even need a set color. It glittered a rainbow, sharp and bright  
and beautiful like light glowing through the stained glass windows of a  
cathedral he had once seen in Asturia or the jewels Okaasan had  
sometimes worn around her throat or on her ears.   
  
But the jewels and even the windows were only like the color   
because all of them changed depending on how you looked at them.   
They were indifferent and flat and empty, and the color glittered   
because it was too strong to be contained by even the stuff it was   
made from. It wasn't a color as much as it was a light.  
  
And the best thing about the light was that everybody else could  
see it as well although they didn't know they could. But maybe the  
*absolute* best thing was that was so pretty it made them want to be  
pretty too. Around it, they acted patient and helpful and kind. People  
always thought about things before they did them when they were near  
that color  
  
Ren had thought that the color was just the color of Fanelian  
Valley itself until the first time he had seen Van-sama. The king gave  
off the light like he was the center of a flame. Ren loved him more  
than he had ever loved anything in his whole life.  
  
Still, sometimes Ren thought that the king's light was just a little  
dimmer than had used to be, bit by bit like it was going down a set of  
stairs. And a few weeks ago Van-sama and his sparkle had started  
fading in earnest.   
  
Then that purply lady had come, and Van-sama had left with   
her when she went back. She took away all the miracles Ren knew of,   
all the potential for miracles.   
  
He supposed he should hate her for that. Except, when she  
first came, Van-sama had flared so brilliantly, Ren had barely been able  
to see him behind the glare and, although it was tinged purple, the  
lady's  
color was the only other one Ren had ever seen that glittered like that.   
Besides, up until he started disappearing, Van-sama's light at the  
very, very center had been the exact same color.  
  
But Van-sama was still gone, even if he couldn't make himself hate  
that women. The world was ugly again, and it would be ugly forever.  
Ren heard himself whimper before he could make himself stop.  
  
"Ren-kun?"  
  
That Celena lady was sitting on a rocking chair next to the sickbed.  
Her hair and clothes were a little messy, as if she had been there for a  
while. But who would stay to watch him sleep?   
  
Ren sat up straight, blushing that he had acted so weak in front of  
someone but covering it with a scowl. He didn't know whether it was  
a bad or good thing that she was the only person who had seen him act  
this way at all, let alone twice. He liked Celena-san, though. She was  
nice and pretty, with shiny hair and pearly blues and gold in constant  
languid motion.  
  
"Oh good, Ren-kun, you're up," she was saying. "How do you  
feel?"  
  
Ren shrugged, not meeting her eyes. They all cared about how you  
felt until you told them.  
  
She reached behind her chair carefully to a little stuffed plush dog   
and place it on his lap. "I got this for you. I broke my leg when I was a  
little younger than you are now, and I know how boring a bed-rest can  
be."  
  
The dog stared at him with empty, button eyes. It didn't have color.  
It was a flat nothing of an object. He had no interest in the toy, but  
Ren gathered it to his chest and thanked her because she wanted him  
to like it. He didn't think anyone had ever given him something before  
just so he would like it.   
Celena smiled. She had a nice smile. "So, how are you feeling?"  
  
It was the second time she had asked that. She meant something  
bigger than what she was saying. He had been crying yesterday so his  
voice had been garbled, but had she heard him say too much? Worms  
were crawling in his stomach.  
  
"How did you break your leg?" he asked.  
  
"My brother and I were up in a tree picking apples. I fell out."  
  
"Did it hurt?"  
  
"A lot. Especially when the doctor set it. But, Ren." she leaned  
forward to hold his hand. Her fingers were smooth and cool.  
"Sometimes things have to hurt for a little while in order for them to  
feel better."  
  
She took a deep breath. "Ren... is Van still here?"  
  
He looked down at the dog in his lap. They didn't want to know  
once you told them. But maybe... just once...  
  
"I'm not asking you how you know," Celena assured him. "That's  
not the important thing. But it would help everyone, especially Van, if  
you tell me. Do you know that Van left, Ren?"   
  
And Ren nodded, a tiny dewdrop of a nod.  
  
"Do you know where he is?"  
  
Ren shook his head vigorously, still staring pointedly at the dog.  
  
Celena sighed a small sigh. Ren's stomach tightened painfully for a  
moment, but she only bent down and kissed him lightly on the  
forehead. "Thank you very much, Ren. That's all I wanted to know."  
  
She was still there when he fell back asleep.  
  
*******  
  
There was something about the column of light that had been  
innately soothing. Even the first time, bewildering as it had been,  
Hitomi had felt only a cool and articulate calm while she had risen.  
Something about the pillar felt secure, like being carried by the  
strength of everyone who loved her.  
  
This sudden flash of movement, however, felt like diving through a  
mirror, falling onto the shards. They were only suspended for a second  
or two, but it felt like a second that had been split into atoms then  
strung one after another into a single long line. When she found herself  
again she was clinging to the front of Van's shirt in the center of the  
university quad, at the exact spot she had found the penny. If Van  
wasn't there she might have doubted the memory of having left.   
  
Except Van was there. With one arm around her tight enough to  
bruise, the other on the hilt of his sword, looking around him with  
burning eyes, Van was *there*.  
  
The first thing Hitomi thought was that she was a terrible,  
selfish person because the first thing she felt was undiluted joy.  
  
He was grabbing his sword in a way that made her think about  
Freudian theories, and she buried her face in his chest to hide her  
giggles. They were high and thin and hard to control; Hitomi was a  
little hysterical. She felt Van's fingers in her hair, and peered up at him.  
Looking down at her, his face was like a statue's that had seen the fall  
of a thousand glorious civilizations. The laughter died in her throat.  
  
He let go of her, took a step forward and looked up and around at  
the lawns, at the buildings, at the sky.  
  
"I'm on the Mystic Moon again, aren't I." It was an announcement,  
not a question. His voice was oddly flat and quiet. Resigned.  
  
"Is the energist here?" The second she asked, Hitomi knew it  
wasn't, but the words hovered in the heat of the air.  
  
He didn't answer for a long time. "No. I - it dropped. When we  
were leaving."  
  
Hitomi slid her hand into his, squeezing. "But we still have the  
pendant, right?"  
  
  
Van touched it without looking down. "Yeah."  
  
"Then everything's okay then, isn't it? We'll just go to my apartment  
and use the pendant to send you back."  
  
Her tone rang cheerful and hollow in the heaviness of their mood.   
Because the solution couldn't possibly be that easy. The fact that he  
came at all meant that something had shifted, that there had been some  
substantial change in the pattern of things. They had no hope of  
understanding what or how. They both felt guilty when they thought  
about why.  
  
Lost in his own train of thought, Van asked abruptly. "How do  
they get it like that?"  
  
"Get what like what?"  
  
"That," Van said, pointing to grass in front of him. "I know they  
must have uprooted all the trees, but how did they get it to be all one  
type of plant for so much space? And how'd they make it all the same  
length?"  
  
"Oh." The question was inappropriate and a little confusing, but the  
solidity of the answer helped ground her. "The gardeners use  
pesticides and weed-killers to get rid of the stuff they don't  
want, and there's a machine that cuts the grass."  
  
He looked lost as he worked it over.   
  
Any half-hoped ideas she might have had about Van staying here  
forever with her dissolved into fantasy then. She couldn't keep Van  
like he was a pet. This was not where he belonged. He needed to go  
home.  
  
She hugged him from behind, fingers lacing together at the front of  
his stomach. "It'll be okay, Van. Somehow or other we'll make it  
okay."  
  
He didn't answer, but she could feel his body relax and he put his  
hands on top of hers. His shirt was rough against her cheek because,  
Hitomi realized, it must be hand-woven.  
  
"We'll go to my apartment," she said again. "But first, let's get you  
some clothes. I don't think you'll blend in right now."  
  
Van nodded, but his grip on her hands tightened almost painfully  
when she tried to pull away. "Hitomi, it's not that I want... if I could,  
I'd... I just have to go back. You know that, right?"  
  
The awful thing was that some small, howling part inside her  
mourned in spite of that.  
  
"I know, Van," she said.  
  
*****  
  
Celena walked to Allen's room with leaden feet. She supposed she  
should connect some sort of metaphor to that - her feet were heavy  
but not nearly as heavy as her heart, maybe. The truth was her heart  
wasn't very heavy. Heaviness required sorrow, and all Celena felt was  
frustrated, simmering anger and sparks of panic. She trudged only to  
procrastinate; she wanted to delay this talk with her brother tiny  
footstep by tiny footstep.  
  
Ren hadn't been wearing a shirt. When they had talked he had  
pulled up the blanket to his chin. Asleep, he had kicked off the covers  
and rolled over on his tummy, where she had seen his back covered  
with long, indented scars - a deliberate sort of scar. It made Celena  
feel sick.  
  
The page was special, vital in the way Hitomi must have been vital.  
But he must have been beaten so deeply into himself he was now  
afraid to get out. He wouldn't be easy to help, wouldn't be easy to  
receive help from.  
  
Celena glared balefully at her brother's door. It loomed, unabated.  
She stuck out her tongue, then opened it just enough to poke her head  
in. Allen was in a chair, his back to the door so Celena could see his  
sun-swept hair in full fall down his back. But, speaking to him, facing  
her-  
  
"Perione-san? Gadeth?"  
  
"Come in, Celena," Allen said without looking at her. "And shut  
the door behind you."  
  
The three men had grave eyes and thin mouths. Perione was the  
only one standing, his long thin body straight as sight but still visibly  
trembling. Celena looked at the light dappling the table Gadeth was  
resting his elbows on.  
  
She said quietly, "I take it Van isn't with you."  
  
None of them answered. It would have been trite.  
  
"What are the details?"  
  
Gadeth started, "Just before we docked, he told me that if a man  
claiming to be his advisor asked to come with us we should let him,  
and get back to Daedalius like our asses were on fire." He shook his  
head, angry at the situation and how he'd played his part in it. "I didn't  
even have time to ask him about it before they left."  
  
"Then he had a talk with Perione," Allen said, infinitely weary.  
"Apparently, before he joined Hitomi in the graveyard Van took him  
aside and ordered him to leave them alone, and he hadn't come back  
in an hour's time Perione should grab something with the royal insignia  
and take Van's place on the 'Crusade'."  
  
"Van-sama also gave me a letter, Celena-san," Perione spoke for  
the first time. His face and voice were ash. "With the specific  
instructions that you are the only one who could see it." He held out a  
plain white envelope, the wax sealed with a thumb-print.  
  
Celena tried to open it as delicately as possible, feeling the weight  
of six eyes on her. There was a single piece of paper inside, covered  
with Van's childish, roundly neat print. She read silently.  
  
I hope you won't have to get this letter, but I think you might.  
Give me two days to try to fix this on my own, then do whatever you  
have to do.  
Someone who knows about this stuff is going to come and help.   
Make sure Allen doesn't pick fights with him.  
You were right, but don't gloat about it.  
His Majesty,  
Van Slanzar de Fanel  
  
"That little sneaky jerk!" she cried indignantly, startling the other  
members of the room. "We were his backup plan the whole time!"  
  
******  
  
Sakamoto Sekio woke up on his kitchen floor with a crick in his  
neck, an open newspaper covering his face and someone knocking on  
his door. All but the last were perfectly normal conditions in which he  
greeted the average day, and Sekio pulled the newspaper (foreign  
affairs section) off irritably to check his watch. Sure enough, it was  
before two in the afternoon, and anyone who knew him would not  
reasonably expect him to be up. He rolled over on his side,  
planning to go back to sleep. There were perhaps five people in the  
world that he would get out of bed or off the floor for, and in all  
probability--   
  
Two knocks, a beat, three knocks, and then what sounded  
suspiciously like someone had kicked the door.  
  
"Goddamn it," Sekio muttered, struggling to his feet. "Why'd she  
pick now of all times to remember the secret code knock."  
  
He had planned to fling open the door in a properly irate fashion,  
but it refused to give way. Experimentally, he let go. Hitomi's head  
poked in through the tiniest sliver of an opening.  
  
"Hey, Sekio," she almost whispered. "Can I come in?"  
  
"Hey, Hitomi," he whispered back. "Sure."  
  
She smiled a little and looked over her shoulder once before  
stepping inside and kicking off her shoes, closing the door behind her.  
Sekio leaned back against the wall.  
  
"So what's up?"   
  
She breathed in deeply. "Sekio, I'm going to ask you for a favor,  
and it's going to seem strange but please don't ask any questions."  
  
"Okay," he said. "What is it?"  
  
She had to take another deep breath before she could blurt out.  
"Can I borrow a shirt and some pants and... well, probably not shoes  
but maybe a pair of boxers? Right now."   
  
Sekio looked at her. Hitomi looked at him.  
  
"Hitomi," he started gently.  
  
"I asked you not to ask any questions!" she pleaded.  
  
"Hitomi," he said again. "I know it's been a while since you've done  
this kind of stuff, but you really need to work on your approach if  
you're hitting on me. And if you're building some sort dummy, just  
*tell* me."  
  
The color was high in her cheeks. "I'm not hitting on you!"  
  
"So is the dummy going to be made out of paper-mache or cloth?"  
  
"Sekio, please just help me out here."  
  
He crossed his arms. "You know I live to serve you, Hitomi, but  
something's up. Why do you need my clothes?"  
  
The Gods of Dramatic Timing deemed that there shall be a knock  
on the door.  
  
Hitomi's eyes grew unfathomably wide and panicked as she flitted  
to the door before Sekio had full time to register the sound.  
  
There were whispers. He could hear Hitomi speaking, but not her  
exact words, and another deeper, huskier voice. Sekio crept a little  
closer, not particularly concerned because Hitomi with her steadfast  
intuition and patience could handle situations that would send most  
other people fleeing to harbinger. He was simply curious.  
  
The voices were still only sounds, now blending and weaving  
together, rising with what might be tension. Something was off about  
the man's. It was too harsh, with too many hard consonants, but too  
lyrical at the same time. Finally, Hitomi sighed a very resigned sigh  
and opened the door fully.  
  
To the police or to his parents, Sekio would have been forced to  
describe the man standing in the doorway as about his own age, but an  
idea as abstract and manmade as the passage of time could not effect  
this person. There was something feral and plain in his eyes and his  
stance that stood at odds with his weary dignity, which Sekio could  
sense but not explain how or why. His clothing, even the sword on his  
waist, was only secondary evidence of the stranger's abnormality.  
  
Seeing him, the man's eyes grew narrow and hard. He stepped  
closer to Hitomi, who had shut the door before she had came back  
inside, and gestured to Sekio with his head, saying something in what  
could have been a mix of Japanese and Portuguese, but wasn't.  
  
Looking embarrassed and hopeless, Hitomi turned back towards  
him but spoke to the man. "This is Sekio. He's - he's courting another  
friend of mine."  
  
"Courting?" Sekio echoed, but the other man had relaxed  
considerably. If Sekio's limbs and major organs remained intact, he  
didn't particularly care how people described him.  
  
Hitomi was hesitant in adding, "Sekio, this - this is Van. He doesn't  
think it's safe to stand in the dorm hallway for five minutes because we  
don't know if or when people will be coming." She glared at him; he  
shrugged defensively. This fierce-looking, sword-welding warrior-type  
person was justifying himself to all five feet four inches of Hitomi.  
That he even could understand she *saying* something he should  
justify was unsettling.  
  
"Is he a patient of yours or something?" Sekio was no stranger to  
bizarre situations; he was usually able to go along with the flow. Still,  
staring at the guy's sword, he supposed there were times when even  
his odd brain would make a desperate grasp for normalcy.  
  
But Hitomi shook her head. "You know I'm not advanced enough  
to have patients. Sekio, I'll explain everything later, but right now he  
really need to have-"  
  
"Clothes," Sekio finished, walking backwards to where his futon  
was unraveling, propped up in the corner. "Yeah, sure. I'll get some."  
  
Relief washed over her face like a waterfall. "You're the best,  
Sekio."  
  
He picked out a few things that were folded if not exactly clean.  
"The best what?"  
  
"If you don't know, then I guess you aren't really the best." It was  
an old word-play of theirs, said this time out of habit and without  
enthusiasm.  
  
Sekio handed the clothing to Hitomi, who gave them to Van,  
gesturing to the tiny kitchen and saying, "You can change in there.  
Thanks for doing this."  
  
Van didn't exactly smile at her, but everything about him softened.  
He gave Sekio another mildly suspicious look as he went inside and  
shut the door.   
  
They were both silent for a minute, as he had expected Hitomi to  
immediately start apologizing or explaining, and she had probably been  
expecting him to rain down accusations on her head.  
  
Finally, Sekio said, "Charming guy. Where do you find these  
people? Honestly, if you bring one more deadbeat home..."  
  
It made her smile in spite of herself, a thin smile curved gently like  
a crescent moon. He was good at making her smile.  
  
"Does he really understand what we're saying?"  
  
Hitomi nodded, expression oddly unreadable. "He asked me the  
same thing about you. He understands what I'm saying, but I don't  
think he can understand anyone else. I don't know why," she added  
before Sekio could ask. "I'll explain everything later, honestly I will,  
but everything's really confusing right now and *I'm* not sure what  
exactly's going on. And it's late." She glanced at the clock. "Really  
late."  
  
"Fine, fine," Sekio said with a wave of his hand. "But you're going  
to tell me later, and you're going to tell me *everything*."  
  
She changed the subject. "I think we need something to carry the,  
um, sword home in. Can I-"  
  
"Sure. Duffel bag type stuff is in the top of the closet."  
  
She nodded again and started looking. From the corner room, Van  
said something, loud and slightly halting.  
  
"The buttons go in the front," Hitomi called back.  
  
He spoke again even more hesitantly.  
  
"Those buttons too."  
  
She was still rummaging through the closet when Van came out  
dressed in one of Sekio's infinite number of old flannel shirts and an  
even older pair of jeans. The effect was not truly assimilating but it  
was serviceable; like hiding a wolf among a pack of dogs. Seeing only  
Sekio in his direct line of vision, he asked, heavily accented but  
understandable, "Hitomi?"  
  
Wordlessly, Sekio pointed. Van's eyes darted in the general  
direction (frantically, Sekio thought. Van was scared.) He sank into  
himself, smiling an unconscious half-smile when he saw her again.  
Hitomi glanced at him, blushed and went back to the shelf.  
  
And Sekio saw the clear, infant blue tip of the reason why Hitomi  
always preferred to spend Saturday nights with a book rather than  
with a date. He looked at Van with new respect.   
  
He was shorter than Sekio had first thought, just wiry and jarring  
enough to give the impression of height. He was toying with the cuff  
of his shirt sleeve now, examining the weave. Sekio didn't know how  
closely he was scrutinizing until Van gave him a baleful look out of the  
corner of his eye and said something in unmistakable tones of, 'Take a  
picture, it'll last longer.' Van looked like he could beat him into a pulp  
despite his superior height. Sekio looked away.  
  
Ignorant of the exchange, Hitomi came back smiling, a long, bright  
blue tote-bag over her shoulder. Sekio had gotten it in an airport years  
ago, although he was fuzzy as to the legality of his ownership. She  
explained things to Van, who reluctantly unbuckled his sheath. He  
handed it to her very carefully. Hitomi looked startled packing it even  
as she tried not to look startled, as if she had been entrusted with  
something wonderful and valuable that she wanted but didn't think she  
deserved.   
  
Van said something in a quiet curious way that gave Hitomi pause.  
"I think there are machines that weave the cloth so the stitches are  
small and even."  
  
It was like listening to one half of a telephone conversation. "I  
don't have one." "I buy my clothes after they've been made." "Most  
people here do." "Because we *all* can afford to, mostly, I guess."  
  
"He's asking about economic systems?" Sekio finally was  
compelled to say.  
  
Hitomi shrugged awkwardly with a even more awkward little  
laugh. "What are you gonna do, huh?" She hugged him and thanked  
him again in goodbye. "You come and get your stuff tomorrow."  
  
"I'm planning on it."  
  
She tapped Van on the shoulder and gestured that they should  
leave. Van nodded but stayed where he was, looking over Sekio,  
coolly appraising. He nodded once; Sekio didn't know whether it was  
an indication of thanks or farewell or approval. And they were gone.  
  
Although it was the normal state of his dorm room, Sekio suddenly  
found the chaos surrounding him to be profoundly appropriate.   
  
******  
  
Such as things stood, they had a few advantages. Van had helped  
them in his way by giving them time. If anything were to go wrong, he  
had known it would go wrong quickly and take a great deal of  
planning to repair. It was somewhat unlike him to think ahead like  
that, and Celena couldn't help having a grubby respect for Van's  
newfound consideration.  
  
Their other asset was also a bid for time, but it was inadvertent and  
perplexing, and it made them uneasy. Early that morning, Sarine -- or  
so they had been told -- had sent the court into a flurry be requesting  
immediate permission from her father to visit her mother's grave.  
  
Purposefully avoiding the thick of things, Celena and Allen only  
knew the outline of the story. Sarine's mother (nameless to the  
Asturians except for that title) had been a princess of one of the  
thousand tiny islands off of the northern tip of the main continent.  
Apparently, it was the tradition there for royalty, no matter how  
distant, to give birth to a firstborn baby in their own childhood bed.  
The Queen's trip to her homeland had been too long and cold while  
she had been carrying a greater weight than her delicate frame could  
bear.  
  
Sarine had lived through her mother's death, nursed by a stranger  
during her funeral. Now the princess returned once or twice a year,  
whenever she saw fit, to pay her respects.  
  
Her noisy, breathless and utterly mystifying departure had eclipsed  
Van's and Hitomi's earlier one that day. It would be hours until anyone  
else important enough to demand an explanation would even notice  
that the king had not come back.  
  
"It'd be nice," Celena mused, twirling a dandelion between her  
fingers. "If we had some course of action to execute during all this  
time."  
  
The garden, tangled dense with vines and rocks, was the only place  
secluded enough for them to feel safe in on this enemy ground. Gadeth  
had gone to securely dock 'The Crusade', leaving her and Perione and  
Allen to sit in the shade of a fountain shaped like a dolphin.  
Algae-tinted water burbled out of its mouth and air-hole into a  
surrounding pool. It obstructed any passerby's direct view of them,  
and its trickling muffled their conversation. The group did indeed have  
a remarkable amount of advantages, given the situation, and all of  
them were draining away in the stale silence.   
  
There was probably some ingenious plan of action gleaming on the  
one shelf too high to reach. After an initial round of gathering facts  
and making suggestions, they were all too sullen and scared to try to  
find it. There was something utterly hopeless about having so much  
time without any opportunities to use it, like trying to escape from a  
long marble corridor that had no doors.   
  
And Celena was suddenly disgusted by the affair and everyone  
involved: spineless Perione and Allen with his blind pride and  
whatever part of Van that was selfish enough to leave them in  
this desperation.  
  
"Stuff this," she decided, scooting forward. "I'm getting lunch."  
  
"Celena!" Allen objected. It was the first thing he had said with  
emotion all day. "I hardly think this is the time--"  
  
"We're not doing anything useful with our time, Oniisama," she  
snapped. "I'm hungry, and I want to do at least one productive thing  
today."  
  
Allen started to answer; then his mouth simply hung open. Celena  
sensed that he was looking past her, and so was Perione. Although the  
day was hot, she had been comfortable in the shade, but now she  
almost felt chilly and the world shifted darker, as if the shadow she  
stood in was being overlapped by another shadow. She turned around.  
  
Her first impression was swallowed in brown. Celena took a step  
back and looked up. The man was about her brother's age although he  
was taller and had broader shoulders. He was made of all brown tones  
blending together, from his rumpled cloak to the bristles on his chin to  
his large, friendly eyes to his hair, bound up sloppily to show he was  
attractive despite his scorn for such things.  
  
"While I admire your practicality," he told her in a chocolate voice.  
"It's half past four in the afternoon."  
  
"So it'll be tea then," Celena said. "Hello. Who are you?"  
  
Allen, who had been opening and closing his mouth like a baby  
bird, managed to spit out intending but unable to continue, "You..."  
  
"Why, yes, it *is* me!" the man noted brightly. "Thank you, Allen.  
If it wasn't for your keen powers of observation, I wouldn't have  
picked up on that for *ages*. Saved me hours of trouble! And to  
answer your question." He returned his attention to Celena, taking her  
hand. "I'm known in these parts as Dryden Fassa."   
  
"Dryden..." she repeated, the name snagging on a memory.  
"Dryden... Oh. You're *that* Dryden."  
  
He sighed. "My reputation does nothing but proceed me. I'm  
indeed that Dryden. I assume you are *that* Celena. A pleasure. Tell  
me, do I live up to my celebrity? You outshine yours, and before now  
I'd doubted anyone could be even that impressive."  
  
He brushed a kiss over her fingers and looked up at her, grinning a  
generous, affable grin. Celena, to her complete mortification, could do  
nothing but blush.  
  
Allen prudently stepped in front of her then, his hand on his hip and  
his voice iron dropping on velvet. "What exactly do we owe your  
presence to, Dryden? I had been under the impression that your  
father's caravans are traveling the southern route."  
  
"And so they are! You're getting cleverer by the day. Alright, fine,"  
he assented as Allen continued to glare. "I'm not supposed to be here.  
In my defense I hadn't even planned on coming until either very late  
last night or very early this morning, depending on how cheerfully you  
want to look at the situation, when I received an urgent message from  
the king of Fanelia himself."  
  
"What?"  
  
Dryden reached into his coat, pulling out a folded sheet of paper  
between two long fingers. "Oh, it didn't say all that much, naturally,  
but I got the impression that I should join your party right away. So  
where are Fanelia and Hitomi? Then it'll be just like the good old days,  
eh, Allen?"  
  
"Quite," Allen muttered, and folded his arms, almost but not quite  
rolling his eyes. Her brother had a remarkable talent for erasing  
unwanted memories, denying the existence of inconvenient ideas or  
people, and Celena could practically see it whir and tick now as it  
operated at full speed. "So sorry, Dryden, but I believe there's been a  
mistake. There's very little here for you to do and..."  
  
Uninterested in Allen's attempts at subtle jabs, Dryden was  
watching Celena in a gently thoughtful way. He turned a little pink  
when she caught him at it. He had a nice open face, an intelligent face  
which seemed to be able to recognize the absurdity of it all, and find it  
highly amusing.  
  
"Well, in his note Van said he had sent away for help," Celena  
offered, ignoring Allen and his betrayed eyes. "I guess he thought  
Dryden might know what to do better than we do. And, Oniisama, we  
really need all the help we can get."  
  
Silenced, Allen looked at her then looked away again and nodded  
slowly. Allen could be petty, but he was not vindictive. He certainly  
was not a fool.   
  
She heard Perione -- who otherwise hadn't moved or spoken  
since Dryden's arrival -- sigh, relaxed by the slight release of tension.  
  
Dryden's face elongated and narrowed when he was serious.  
"So I take it my invitation wasn't exactly extended out of courtesy."   
  
If Celena hadn't known any better she would have thought  
Allen snorted slightly at that. She had never seen him act so outright  
hostile to someone he disliked before. Stress had different effects on  
different people, she supposed.  
  
"Not exactly," she said, elbowing her brother in ribs, subtly but  
hard enough to make him wince. "But it's very sincere. Bad things  
have happened, and worse things will soon if we don't find some way  
to do something."  
  
Dryden laced his hands together to prop up his chin as he  
listened to the three of them explain the story piecemeal, his gaze  
becoming distant but sharp as he focused on the abstract.  
  
"Well," he said slowly, when they were done. "If you want my  
opinion and there's no reason why you shouldn't, the only thing one  
could do in this point in time would be to stall as no one else has  
stalled before."  
  
"So your solution is to ignore the problem," Allen reviewed,  
struggling to keep his face neutral when it wanted to look justified and  
smug.  
  
Dryden snorted loudly and inelegantly, like a horse. "Are you  
kidding? You can't solve a problem five seconds after learning about  
it. Even *I* can't solve a problem five seconds after learning about it.  
But I believe the technical definition for this sort of dilemma is 'a  
doozy'. We're going to need a few days at the very least to fix this --  
Hey there," he turned to Perione without sparing the time required for  
a new breath. "You're Van's lackey, aren't you?"  
  
The advisor was taken aback. "Err... I..."  
  
"Close enough," Celena supplied.  
  
"Alright then. Just before whatever grand feast they've  
prepared is served, you and I will officially visit the throne room.  
Don't worry, you won't have to say much; your main job will be done  
backstage. You know how to forge Van's signature, right? So-"  
  
Perione blanched. "Dryden-san! How... I mean, I never told..."   
  
He had always been thin and pale, had grown significantly  
thinner and paler since Van disappeared. Perhaps it was an effect of  
the waning afternoon light, but now Perione skin had almost a  
translucent quality, stretched tight over his bones.  
  
"Relax," Dryden told him. "I don't have any sordid documents  
to back that up hidden in my lair. Any advisor worth anything knows  
how to forge their employers signature, although I've never met one  
who actually *uses* that talent. Is it just something to do when you  
get bored? Perione's choice of hobbies aside, he and I will show up  
with an official letter of authorization from Van, which conveniently  
backs up our amusing little anecdotes of how there were technical  
difficulties on the 'Crusade' --wind shear or something. We'll work  
out the details later and it couldn't make the trip to Daedalius  
safely."  
  
Dryden was gesticulating rapidly with bright eyes, swept away  
with genuine enthusiasm for the planning. He was in his element, and  
his voice rang out as if echoing off cathedral walls.  
  
"It's already docked," Allen informed him.  
  
"Is it? Then be so kind as to hide it when we're done talking  
here, please. Anyhow, things were looking quite snarly until I and my  
vessels -- by complete coincidence, mind you -- landed near Fanelia. I  
offered Van a lift, but he was too honorable to leave your men alone,  
Allen. So he sent Perione here in his stead until the ship is repaired.  
Didn't he, Perione?"  
  
"Yes?" Perione guessed, half-assuming it was a trick question.  
  
But Dryden patted his arm, a gentle, hollow comradery  
between strangers. "With that passionate conviction on our side,  
they'll have no choice but to believe us, my friend."  
  
"It could work," Celena said thoughtfully. "It actually might  
work."  
  
There were times Allen wondered if truth had some specific  
color or odor to it that only he was able to recognize. "Daelin is an  
intelligent man. He would never believe a story like that. He's most  
certainly assumed that Van might not return and that we will deny it  
for as long as it remains plausible. He won't believe anything any  
Asturian has to say for the next five colors."  
  
"Of course he won't believe us," Celena said with tattered  
patience. "That's not the point. It's a lie, yes, but it's a complex lie  
with two unknown and seemingly unrelated complications. If you're  
really familiar with the situation it's an easy lie to see, but it's a hard  
one to sell. He attacks Freid or any other country with that excuse,  
and no one's going to be sympathetic. If it wants to break the treaty,  
Daedalius would be rubble in five minutes if it didn't have backup.  
Honestly, Oniisama."  
  
Dryden had flipped up the visors of his glasses during her  
speech, clearly impressed. "Couldn't have said it better myself. Have  
you ever considered becoming an auditor?"  
  
He knew it wasn't wise before he even said it, but Allen could  
feel himself losing his grip of the situation. It panicked him. "Fine, it's  
a brilliant plan. Just brilliant. Except for the simple matter of it being  
completely useless. We still have no way of knowing where Van  
is and certainly no way of knowing how to bring him home. Now our  
ignorance will be tolerated for several more days than before."  
  
But Dryden simply grinned his unhinged grin, not as much a  
response to Allen as it was out of gratitude for the general loveliness  
of the world. "Ah, that's the segue I was looking for. One of the few  
commercial advantages to being a scholar is developing the knack of  
figuring things out. I think I'll be bothering you for quite some time  
more, Allen."  
  
If he took any pleasure in Allen's silent but horrified reaction,  
he was gracious enough not to show it in public. Dryden rose with  
lazy grace, and held his hand out to Celena. "I was planning to start  
researching right away. Milady, do you know of the existence and or  
location of a nearby library?"  
  
There was something wistful in even Celena's widest smile, but  
now it only accentuated something else that was new and bright  
brewing in her eyes. She bounded to her feet. "Yes, certainly. I'll show  
you the way. Oh yeah, only if Oniisama give his permission, but he  
will, right, Oniisama? Right. Thanks, see you two at dinner!"  
  
They were off before Allen registered he was expected to react  
to something, chatting so comfortably they could have been falling  
back into old patterns of an old friendship.  
  
Watching them, Perione said softly to himself, "Van-sama does  
have his moments of wisdom, doesn't he?"  
  
******  
  
It was late, Hitomi had said, gesturing reflexively to a box  
display glowing, green straight lines. And Van had nodded, not  
because he understood what it was supposed to tell him, not even  
because the sky was dark and summer-damp by the time they had  
reached Hitomi's lodgings. They were both drained, confused, irritable  
-- it would have been late if they had arrived before midday.  
  
So it was only practical to wait until morning before they tried  
to send Van back. It was odd how they both described it that way --  
try instead of do; back instead of home.  
  
Hitomi was sleeping on the couch across the screen. She had  
offered him her futon and he had agreed before either sensed how  
fundamentally unnatural the arrangement was. They were both too  
stubborn and too modest to suggest changing rooms; and so she gone  
to hers and he had gone to his, separated forever by the authority of a  
paper divider.   
  
He wouldn't be able to sleep tonight. Van lay flat on his back  
on the futon, his arms behind his head, staring at a tiny red light flash  
on and off to a rhythm he couldn't quite figure out. It had made Van  
uneasy at first, partly because it was strange and almost hostilely  
bright and partly because he had no idea what it was supposed to do.  
A lot of things here were like that -- empty, aggressive lights and flat,  
impatient sounds that went on and off seemingly by individual  
preference. His five years with Hitomi had given him a sketch of what  
life was like on her planet, but it had been so rough compared to the  
real thing.  
  
The Mystic Moon smelled funny. Most new places did, but this  
one was the strangest Van could remember. The oddness sprung from  
the complete lack of smell, the absence of any and all the overriding  
odors. It reminded him of the brief time he had once spent in  
Millerna's operating room just before she had a surgery. Every speck  
of dirt and sweat and humanity had been thoroughly scoured off the  
walls, until the room was so pristinely alien it was almost threatening.  
Sterilized -- he thought that was what Millerna had named it.   
  
He heard Hitomi shift in her sleep across the ocean of the  
screen. He must have annoyed her today with his stream of questions  
and demands that they be answered thoroughly, especially since she  
could often only give him vague, uncertain explanations. To rely on all  
the machines that the people here did, to trust them so completely  
without even knowing how they worked was frightening and cold.  
They surrendered their freedom for the sake of convenience. They  
didn't seem to mind or even miss the loss.   
  
Still, he had seen only very little here. All he really understood  
was that the people on this planet had somehow managed to tame it.  
This was a place that transcended most illness. This was a world  
which had defeated the night. Maybe security that consistent and  
strong was worth accepting the constant, lifeless movement here.   
  
Van would never lose the dark, wild energy that had been  
organized out of this place. He would die before considering the  
sacrifice. But Hitomi must have made it: she wouldn't live anywhere  
else but the Mystic Moon. He did not have the right to judge this  
world.  
  
He heard Hitomi shift again. The noise went on for longer this  
time.  
  
He liked the room where she lived. Most of the gleaming  
metallic things (which disturbed him because they were *not* strange,  
because they rustled something in the attic of his mind) were piled in a  
corner where he didn't have to look at them. Most of what she owned  
-- books and clothes and the smoothest dishes he had ever seen -- had  
been stacked into piles on virtually every surface, as if the person who  
made them would have been organized if they had the time. That fit  
Hitomi, and it made him smile although it hurt somewhere deeper  
down.  
  
There were just so many *things* here; a lifetime of papers  
and cups and trinkets, because this was where Hitomi lived her life.  
This was her home.  
  
"Van?"  
  
And that was her, only a silhouette of flat-black against the  
softer night-black until his eyes fully adjusted to the dark, wearing  
only a long, long collared, button-down shirt. The screen had been  
folded and placed up against the wall. Hitomi had always been able to  
see that sometimes a paper screen was nothing more than a paper  
screen more quickly than he could.   
  
Van propped himself up on his elbows, suddenly very  
conscious that he was only that guy's strange undergarment.  
  
Seeing the movement, Hitomi tilted her head. "Could you not  
sleep either?"  
  
"Not really."  
  
She fidgeted, scratching the back of her calf with her other  
foot. "Would you mind, I mean... Do you want to not fall asleep  
together?"  
  
Something bitter and wonderful had lodged itself in the back of  
his throat. She always had that effect on him.  
  
"Yeah," he said, sitting up. "Come in, I mean."  
  
She padded across the floor and sat cross-legged by the futon,  
picking at the carpet.  
  
"Hi," Van said.  
  
Her smile looked like a ghost's smile. "Hey. Are you  
comfortable?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Silences in the dark are slower than regular ones.  
  
And then Hitomi blurted out, sad and angry and embarrassed  
with something raw lining the edge. "Van, I'm really sorry I brought  
you here. I'm so sorry, Van."  
  
Van sat up straighter, closer to her. "What are you talking  
about?"  
  
She swallowed. "I didn't want to stay, but I didn't want you to  
go. I made you... I'm sorry, Van. I didn't mean to, you know,  
intellectually. But I did want it, and I'm sorry."  
  
What was the point of destiny, what sort of justice was in the  
world if a person this breathtaking would say and feel those things  
about him? Stained, weak, unworthy him. There couldn't be a fate  
then, and Van was glad.  
  
Physical touching was getting less awkward with practice, and  
Van wrapped his arms around Hitomi and drew her close with a  
soldier's kind of grace.  
  
"I didn't want to leave you either," he said into her hair. "It's  
not all your fault. I'm sorry too."  
  
Her initial surprise felt jerky against his chest before her  
tension melted. Hitomi was soft and firm and smooth. She smelled like  
beauty would, if beauty had a smell.  
  
After a time, she said quietly, "I've been thinking about some  
things since whatever happened to us happened. I was so lonely  
without you, Van. I felt... dead. I can't remember ever being that  
lonely before. But that's just memory, and I had five years where I  
was never lonely to compare it to, which I hadn't had before, you  
know? And we were really lucky, in a way. Most people spend their  
whole lives in their own heads. I loved having you there, but it felt sort  
of like... like-"  
  
"Cheating," Van remembered. "It never made sense. We never  
knew why we were like that. It always felt sort of like - like living on  
borrowed time."  
  
Her breathes were warm and even across his chest. She wrapped  
an arm around his shoulder, and her skin felt tender and smooth  
against his. "Yes, it wasn't tangible or anything, it never exactly felt  
real. And it wasn't as if we were so happy like that, it was just the only  
thing we had. So maybe all of what's happening now is just a transition  
period or something. Maybe all this hassle is just to get us to a place  
where we, um... we fit."  
  
"We fit now," Van said. "We've always fit. We just need to  
find a space that fits *us*."   
  
She looked up at him, hesitantly traced the line of his cheek.  
Van could never forget her eyes at that moment -- swirled by the dark,   
big and trembling with something almost holy. "Van... I... just the  
way I handled tonight was so stupid when- I... I don't want to be  
alone tonight, Van."  
  
Van couldn't breathe, but somehow he was able to lift her  
hand to kiss it and say, "I don't, either."  
  
They learned that there are many versions of intimacy. Although  
most are strangely dissimilar, all are equally sweet.  
  
End Part Five 


	6. Part 6: Home But Newly

********************************************  
The Vision of Escaflowne: A Return to Gaea  
********************************************  
  
  
  
Part Six -- Home but Newly  
  
  
We look before and after,  
And pine for what is not:  
Our sincerest laughter  
With some pain is fraught;  
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.  
Percy Shelley  
  
*****  
  
"Hitomi?" Van whispered.  
  
Her head resting in profile on his chest, hair damp and sticky  
from drying sweat, she nuzzled him slightly but did not wake.  
  
"Hitomi?" Van tried again. No response at all this time. He  
traced her hand, which lay cool and smooth against the still flushed  
skin of his stomach.  
  
"I was thinking about what you've always said," he continued,  
not exactly whispering, but his voice was hoarse and muffled by the  
dark. "Or thought, or something. Whatever. About how there isn't  
anywhere we can be together. And what you said earlier about how  
maybe being together now is going to help us find a place where we  
can always be together. See, up until now, I always thought that the  
only thing keeping us apart was you not being able to stay on Gaea  
when how you feel effects it so much. And that was a big thing, but it  
was the *only* thing, and if we could only get around that somehow  
than you could stay with me forever."   
  
He swallowed hard. "Because I really want you to stay with  
me, Hitomi. I want to make you my queen. I - I want you to be the  
last thing I see before I die. So, you thought that we didn't belong  
anywhere, but I always thought we belonged together on Gaea, and  
there was just something - something in the way."  
  
Van stared directly at the ceiling. "You were more right than I  
was, I think. Because you've got this place where you live, and the  
way you acted with that guy earlier... this is your *home*, isn't it?  
You need to be here like I need to be in Fanelia. So, it would be really  
nice to find somewhere where we could be together, but..."  
  
Hitomi sighed in her sleep, turning into his warmth. Van froze,  
then relaxed again, sliding one hand down to the small of her back and  
smoothing the other across her hair. "But I just can't think of anyplace  
we could go."  
  
******  
  
this is certainly an interesting development.  
  
perhaps.  
  
just perhaps? don't pout. it was out of any of our control.  
  
was it really?  
  
implying something?  
  
nothing. nothing. what to do now?  
  
they are now in my jurisdiction. will handle the affair from  
here.  
  
naturally.  
  
think you are insinuating something.  
  
not hardly.   
  
current location?  
  
nearing destination, no sign of trouble. think this will be our  
last communication for a time.  
  
alright. keep safe.  
  
i will, okaasan.  
  
******  
  
For a moment, Hitomi hung in that delectable almost-  
conscious stage of waking, sensing outside herself but not yet  
assembling the information into thought. She was cocooned in heat,  
pressed against it; and the world smelled freshly sweet and raw, like  
sunlight shaded by something sharply masculine. Like Van.  
  
And then she was being shaken, (gently, but still being shaken.)  
and Van's voice was loud and saying, "Hitomi? Hitomi, get up,  
something's making noise." And the doorbell sounded shortly, as if it  
was being rung for a second or third time, and Hitomi was awake.  
  
"'t means someone's at the door," she mumbled, turning over  
on her stomach. Her mouth tasted sour and her skin had collected a  
lightly sticky residue like honeysuckle blossoms. "Just ignore it. Too  
early to be important."  
  
"Aa." She felt her hair being tugged and realized with a blush  
that Van was playing with it, then felt embarrassed about blushing.  
Hitomi didn't think of herself as overly modest, but what had felt  
sacred during the night seemed just awkward and expository in the  
practical light of morning.   
  
Hitomi raised herself up on one elbow, peering groggily at Van  
who gave her a small smile and squeezed his fistful of hair before  
letting it go and running his hand down her cheek. Her stomach  
quivered. Suddenly, any tension or discomfort in the situation  
evaporated, leaving Hitomi lightheaded and grinning goofily back at  
Van.  
  
"Morning," she said, ducking her head a little. The doorbell  
rang again.  
  
"The people here must get up awfully late," Van said  
conversationally.  
  
Hitomi blinked. "What?"  
  
He pointed to her window, which glowed in a sickening  
display of sunshine and the industrious activity of cars and birds and  
people at ground level.   
  
Hitomi blinked in a bleary sort of understanding. Then buried  
her head in the bedding to muffle a rude word.  
  
The doorbell rang again.  
  
She had been faintly worried if she should ask Van to turn  
away when she got dressed, or maybe wait until he went to the  
bathroom or hope that he was just too shy to watch, and if half-  
wanting him not to look at her nakedness was too prissy. Modesty  
now was a secondary issue as she threw on clothes and rushed to open  
the door.  
  
"Ts - Tsukawa-sensei?"  
  
Tsukawa was as neat and professionally pleasant as ever in a  
black business suit and bag to match. She smiled.  
  
"Ah, Hitomi-chan. The building is nice, but do you always  
have to walk up all those stairs? I had to take off my heels between  
floors at one point."  
  
"No..." Hitomi said slowly as her brain stuttered into action.  
"The elevator's broken."  
  
"I see. That's fortunate - can't have a young thing like you  
destroying her arch support. May I come in?"  
  
Oh this was just great. Hitomi plastered on a smile and held the  
door open wider, voice carrying as she answered. "Of course you can  
come into my apartment, Tsukawa-sensei."  
  
"Cozy," Tsukawa decreed, crossing her legs and resting her  
hands in her lap as she settled on the couch. Her bag lay politely by her  
feet.  
  
"I'm sorry about all the mess," Hitomi said, running her hands  
through her hair, a bit more sure of herself now that the door was  
closed and her home was self-contained again.  
  
Tsukawa laughed lightly, shaking her head. It was a shame she  
had scheduled her premier visit for today; normally Hitomi would have  
been as delighted at her presence as she was mystified.  
  
She headed for the kitchen nook, always a polite hostess.  
"Would you like some tea?"  
  
"No, thank you. I just wanted to see how you were doing. It's  
unlike you to call in sick twice in the same month."  
  
Hitomi concentrated on filling the kettle up with water so  
Tsukawa couldn't see her expression. She was perceptive, and Hitomi  
was a bad liar. "Oh, I'm fine. I was just a little tired yesterday. Thank  
you for your concern, though."  
  
"Ah, that's good to hear. How is his majesty doing?"  
  
Hitomi dropped the kettle in the sink. It blocked the drain; the  
tap water ran over the curve of one side so smoothly it looked like  
film on a soap bubble. "Ts-Tsu..."  
  
Tsukawa tilted her head inquiringly. "Where is he, by the way?  
Your apartment's quite nice, but it's so small I can't imagine where he  
could be out of sight."  
  
Hitomi just blinked with trembling eyes.   
  
Standing in front of her was her favorite teacher. A woman  
who had always doted on her for reasons she had never understood. A  
woman too perfect and confident and cheerfully eccentric to ever want  
to ask personal questions of, partly out of respect and partly because  
she would probably just tell you the truth if you did, which took all the  
fun out of the mystery. A woman Hitomi had forever assumed she  
knew without ever really knowing...  
  
Because Tsukawa-sensei had always seemed to know *her*.  
  
"Is something wrong, Hitomi-chan?" Tsukawa asked.   
  
  
*****  
  
Allen was out of sorts, having woken up too early and poured  
through too much inscrutable text and sneezed too often from the  
constant unsettling of old dust. It didn't help that Dryden, who made a  
point never to be in enough sorts to call his current condition *out* of  
them, was clearly amused, if not man enough to be provocatively  
blatant about it.  
  
As well as getting far too close to his little sister. Celena was in  
her element, losing herself in the arcane and conversation with the  
young merchant to the point where Allen was beginning to doubt if  
she remembered that the hours of research this morning had an actual  
purpose.  
  
"Listen to this piece of good, old-fashioned paranoia," Dryden  
said, then began to read in his Public Speaking voice, which made  
Allen listen in spite of himself. " 'The Draconian is a true siren, a  
demon of the head and the heart. In the form of a young maiden as  
lovely as the moon, it will attempt to bewitch warriors and leaders and  
holy men, for it is a grasping, greedy thing, wanting to wither the best  
of all humans. One shall recognize the Draconian by its frightening,  
unnatural wings, or if the cunning beast attempts to disguise itself as  
human, by its inhuman loveliness. Beware, for though it is lovely as  
the moon, it is as cold as the moon as well, and wants nothing more  
than to steal the soul of any man it finds' Isn't that just  
heartwarming?"  
  
"Why are you reading about draconians?"  
  
"Knowing how deeply they were mixed up in things last time, I  
figured it couldn't hurt to be thorough."  
  
"That sounded more like Sarine than a draconian," Celena  
remarked absently, turning a page of her own volume.  
  
There was a stillness - not an abrupt quieting or slackening of  
activity as much as a wispy emphasis on the moment, as if a cloud had  
drifted over the sun.  
  
"Why not both?" Dryden said slowly, with the careful control  
of someone who knew instincts didn't necessarily lead to fact.  
  
"Oh, really."  
  
"She went north going to her birthplace," he continued.  
"What's north?"  
  
"Cyrano, Wermanda, Hiliout," Celena began to list. "Bajin,  
Noc."  
  
"The Mystic Valley," Allen said, soft but harsh. "The Mystic  
Valley is very far north indeed."  
  
Someone was bound to say it was ridiculous. Someone would  
have to tell him to stop being melodramatic and leaping to  
conclusions, and then they'd go back to reading and forget about this  
nonsense.  
  
But no one did.  
  
*****  
  
Feeling betrayed was awful, nauseating and bitter the way  
mothballs smelled.  
  
They said the best way to pick something up quickly was to  
fake confidence in it. Although Hitomi disagreed with the principle of  
being ashamed of happenstance-ignorance, Van had showed her  
enough about pride to be able to raise her chin and fish the pot out of  
the sink and say, coolly almost, "I think you already know the answer  
to that, Tsukawa-san."  
  
Tsukawa tsked. Hitomi felt a bright crack of anger that her  
professor would dare scold her now, but then Tsukawa began to  
speak, obviously self-deprecating. "That was really the wrong way to  
go about things, wasn't it? I'm sorry, Hitomi-chan. My fondness for  
drama is bound to be the death of me one of these days. But, darling, I  
*would* like to see his majesty."  
  
"I'm right here."  
  
Van's voice was as menacing and guarded as a sheathed  
sword, an odd counterpoint to his wrinkled jeans, unbuttoned shirt,  
bedrumpled hair. He was by Hitomi's side, suddenly, gripping her  
upper arm. That would have been obnoxious, except the gesture was  
not exactly possessive, but strong, presenting a wall of solidarity in  
front of the stranger. "I can understand what you're saying. Who are  
you?"  
  
Tsukawa watched him watching her. Watched, and then...  
changed.  
  
It shouldn't have been startling - just a shift of posture, a glint  
evaporated from the eyes, a relaxing of the lines around the mouth, but  
the transformation was as staggering as the removal of a mask.  
Tsukawa was recognizable - the same shape and sharpness as always -  
but drained of everything that had made her seem ordinary.  
  
She took the clip from her hair, letting it stream thick and  
glossy to her waist.  
  
Beside Hitomi, Van inhaled sharply, letting go of her as if he  
had forgotten about holding on. Worried, she turned her head,  
reaching out her arm, intending to touch, but then let it fall to her side  
again. Van's hand was unconsciously drifting forward. His face was  
drawn and his eyes were oddly bright and shallow, full of shuttered  
hope.  
  
His voice was paper rustling. "Ha... Hahaue..."  
  
Tsukawa shook her head. "Close, Your Majesty. Close. I can't  
tell you how glad I am to meet you. I've... We've... been waiting so  
long."  
  
"What-"  
  
Tsukawa spread her wings.  
  
Pin feathers brushing the walls of the apartment, they glowed.  
Magnificent but fiercely right, they belonged the way mountains  
belong even next to something as artificial as a highway.  
  
Tsukawa retrieved her fashionably over-large black bag,  
reached inside and then held out a sphere pulsating with green storm  
clouds almost like a dragon's eye.  
  
"It's time," she said.  
  
Then the room was empty.  
  
****  
  
Cleaning a saddle in the hayloft of the barn, Ren shuddered,  
then blinked, then smiled as if life was falling into place in front of his  
very eyes.  
  
****  
  
It was a very big room.  
  
Growing up, the biggest thing in the world had been the  
palace, but no place you've lived most of your life in can every really  
feel particularly huge. Van referenced the largeness of things with  
memories of his father and Balgus and Aniue towering over him. He  
never thought anything manmade could be intimidating in its size until  
visiting Asturia and Freid, seeing a floating fortress.  
  
Here - wherever here was - swallowed all of that without a  
thought.  
  
The ceiling was high and gently domed, made of something  
white and translucent so the sunlight pouring in looked like a clear  
cloud and emphasized the sense of space. The floor was polished stone  
that had been left to scuff, bare except for him and Hitomi and That  
Woman.  
  
They stood in the dead center of the room where the light was  
so bright it was hard to see. Van couldn't make out walls; the dome  
seemed to arch into darkness as it tapered down. But he *could* see  
human shaped silhouettes shifting in the black.  
  
A quick check on Hitomi: she was resting her hand lightly on  
his shoulder although that was probably just out of a momentary need  
for balance after reforming. Looking around intently, she was blinking  
as she adjusted to the light, but showing no other signs of distress.  
  
It took a lot more than this, Van thought with faintly smug  
pride, to faze Hitomi. When they had first met, he had been  
ostentatiously disgusted about having to take care of some useless girl.  
Strangely, it had been almost as irritating when he found out that he  
actually didn't.  
  
Hitomi turned to him with a fleeting, reassuring smile before  
focusing on... on the woman and saying, "Tsukawa-sensei?" at the  
same time he demanded. "What's going on?"  
  
The woman smiled again, one of those self-aware, amused  
smiles that made Van want to hit things. She hadn't even retracted her  
wings. He was prudishly disgusted by that, as if catching her eating  
food off the floor.  
  
Van took a step towards her, one hand clenching and  
unclenching as it hovered over the handle of his sword. "Who are you?  
Where did you take us? What's going on?"  
  
Her smile gentled until she looked like Hahaue again and Van  
was blinking away hot pricks in the back of his eyes. "All perfectly  
reasonable questions, Your Majesty. I apologize for how confusing  
the last few days must have been for you, and you too, Hitomi-chan,  
but please believe that we wouldn't have attempted this for anything  
that wasn't deadly serious."  
  
"Any of *what*? Who *are* you?"  
  
"Being rude won't make things any better, Your Majesty," she  
said, chiding.  
  
He was positive he hadn't heard Hitomi snicker.  
  
Van wasn't an ideal politician, but he knew when he had to  
concede to inconsequential demands in order to stay firm on important  
ones. He clenched his fists, closed his eyes, counted to a high enough  
number and ground out, "Would you tell us your name?"  
  
There was no way Hitomi had just patted him on the back.  
  
The woman smiled again, a real smile now, looking slightly  
trustworthy for the first time. "My pleasure, Van-sama. I am Myra,  
daughter of Lael." She blinked dark eyes. "Sister to Varie."   
  
He had been expecting something like that. At least, he  
*should* have been expecting something like that. Still, it sent him  
reeling like when Escaflowne had been struck, startling him even as he  
had been prepared, hurting from the dull ache of infection setting in,  
not the blow itself.  
  
The shadows in the background were shifting around a little  
more now, murmuring amongst themselves. Hitomi squeezed his  
shoulder. He could feel her stare, and a sudden impulse to throw her  
arm off of him. Unsure of how to handle her intended comfort, he  
almost resented Hitomi for forcing the unfamiliar situation on him.  
  
But now she was looking at her teacher and asking softly,  
"Where are we?" Moving the conversation along.  
  
"This," Myra said with a broad sweep of her hand. "Is the  
great hall. A sort of general congregation area, council room, social  
chamber and occasional bowling alley. And you, Hitomi-chan, are on  
Gaea again in Icirus, the stronghold of the few remaining draconians."  
  
"She *is* in Icirus, isn't she?" said a voice in the dark, low and  
disapproving. "You were instructed to retrieve only Varie's fledgling."  
  
"Circumstances were that one could only be brought with the  
other," Myra answered, voice clipped with authority. She turned back  
to Van and Hitomi, gentle again but unreadable. "And as for why you  
have been brought here, Your Majesty, it was in an attempt to save  
your people."  
  
Van's hand settled on the hilt of his sword unconsciously. "Is  
something planned against Fanelia?"  
  
There was a wave of murmurs at that.  
  
Myra looked almost unsettled herself before smoothing it over  
with another smile, tossing her hair so girlishly it reassuringly  
disassociated her from his mother. "Perhaps it would have been better  
to say your species. Van-sama," she stepped forward, lightly taking his  
hand between her own, dark between light. "The draconians need your  
help."  
  
"Why?"  
  
And then Hitomi fainted.  
  
*****  
  
This couldn't be a good idea. Ren wasn't stupid; he knew  
when to keep his mouth shut, which was most of the time, really. No,  
this was a horribly dangerous idea, and Ren's conviction of that  
pounded through him with each step he took towards Celena-san's  
door.  
  
Grownups didn't like being told things by kids. They liked it  
even less when you just *knew* something to be true without any  
proof. Ren was fuzzy on the concept of proof anyway - what greater  
evidence of something could there be other than *knowing* it?  
Grownups were funny like that. And then - the worst possibility of all  
- they might start to wonder *how* he knew. It was better and safer  
to let them go about their business so Ren could go about his.  
  
The door was a lot closer now; he could see the changing  
gradients of the wood.  
  
But Celena-san wasn't a regular grownup. And this was  
something *important*, something in which both of their businesses  
trickled together into a tidepool.  
  
Right in front of the door now.  
  
Well, no one said Ren had to say anything about Van-sama if  
he talked to her. He could just be visiting Celena-san or something.  
Nothing wrong with that.  
  
Ren knocked.  
  
There was an lazy rustling of blue-gold. "Who is it?"  
  
"Ren. Ren Yarda. The page. Can I come in?"  
  
Blue over-riding the gold now in surprise. (Not annoyance or  
disappointment, just neutral surprise.) A swish of skirt, a few footfalls,  
and Celena-san opened the door. Blue softened into a powdery shade  
as she smiled.  
  
"Of course," she said.  
  
It didn't look much like what he had thought a lady's room  
should look like. For one thing, books were scattered all over and the  
bed was unmade, but there also weren't a lot of.... frilly things. He sat  
down in a chair Celena motioned him towards, putting his hands in his  
pockets, swinging his legs and scowling into his lap.   
  
Celena perched on the end of the bed, still smiling at him. "So,  
Ren-kun, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"  
  
Ren shrugged.  
  
"Would you like something? I can't offer you tea or juice, but  
there might be a cookie hiding in here somewhere."  
  
She was always trying to give him things. He didn't get it. He  
didn't get her, and coming here had been a stupid idea and he should  
leave now before he had said anything, and what had he been thinking,  
anyway, just because Celena-san had been nice to him once or twice  
was no reason to tell--  
  
"Ack! Be careful where you aim!" Celena was bending to the  
floor, picking up a book he had accidentally kicked across the room.  
"Normally I wouldn't mind, but I borrowed this one from the library."  
  
"Sorry," Ren said, surprised that he actually was. Sort of.  
  
"No harm done. No footprints or skid marks, anyway," Celena  
said, turning the book over in her hands. It was a thick book bound in  
lizard textured leather. The Fanalian Royal Lineage was embossed in  
gold down the spine.  
  
"What does lineage mean?"  
  
"It's a tracing of your family bloodline, like a family tree. A  
map of who you come from."  
  
"So that's a book about where Van-sama comes from?"  
  
Celena-san nodded. "Very good."  
  
"Do you want to know where Van-sama comes from because  
it will help you find where he is?"  
  
Grey-blue and night-blue swirling together. "Exactly, Ren-  
kun."  
  
She missed Van-sama too. He knew, but was helpless to do  
anything with the knowledge, and she could probably be able to do  
something except she didn't know what to do...  
  
Blue and gold were colors you could trust, weren't they?  
  
"Van-sama is here," Ren blurted before he could convince  
himself not to.  
  
The swirling stopped, the colors frozen into place. "Here?"   
  
Ren nodded. "Not *here* here, not at the castle, but... here.  
Here on... Gaea!" He said the last part more loudly than the rest,  
pleased with having discovered the correct word. Where could Van-  
sama have been except on Gaea, but he must have been somewhere  
else.  
  
"Do you know where, exactly, Ren-kun? What country?" Her  
voice was mild and almost unconcerned, but burnished gold was  
creeping in, taking over, spinning wildly through the blue.  
  
Ren chewed his lip. "Up. Somewhere high up. Somewhere  
cold. And... icy."  
  
He wanted to explain that he had meant the place was full of  
colors, but they weren't like any he had ever seen before -- so pale and  
frozen into place -- but the enormity of what he had just shared  
crashed around him. Ren bolted out of the room.  
  
It would be years later before he realized that Celena-san had  
never even begun to ask how he knew.  
  
******  
  
Afterwards, Hitomi was always surprised by how unemotional  
her visions were. That wasn't exactly correct - the visions themselves  
were filled with pain and pride and glory, but Hitomi herself never felt  
anything in particular while watching them. Sometimes, there was a  
sort of distant horror or happiness, but only as a foreshadowing of  
what she would feel later, a certain inkling of 'this will make me sad.'  
Her job was to bear witness, not to pass judgement; Hitomi was  
separated from the events around her by an impersonal bottle-green  
sheen.  
  
She was on Gaea newly created, the land pristine and lovely  
and thrumming with quiet potential. Before her, seventy or so  
Draconians were huddled together, aimless and hopeless, refugees  
from Earth, from Atlantis, from their own hubris. For a long time none  
of them did anything but hold each other or hug their knees to their  
chest and rock back and forth and cry. Gradually, the sun began to set,  
and their grief, almost mechanically, was subdued by survival. A  
campfire was lit and some sort of rations were distributed. The  
Draconians ate in silence. None of their wings were visible.  
  
After the last was finished, they gathered into a semi-circle. An  
old man with a long beard and tired eyes stood before them, shoulders  
squared for all that he supported himself on a staff.  
  
"We have sinned." His voice was as deep and gravelly as a  
river bank, as a diamond buried in the earth. "We have sinned against  
our world and against ourselves. And we have been duly punished."  
  
Some of the crowd broke down. Others stood stiff-backed and  
tall, their lips pressed thin.  
  
The old man continued. "But out of our punishment comes a  
chance for redemption. On this new world, a world where the one we  
wasted hangs eternally in the sky, we will create new life in the image  
of our innocent selves and give them the means not to fall."  
  
The Draconians began to hum and hummed for a long time, a  
low, sweet sound, harmonies gently rising and falling.  
  
A female stepped forward, dressed in green robes. "Will we  
live among our new children? Will we stay by their side?"  
  
The Elder shook his head. "We must let them live by  
themselves. We will teach them of right and wrong, but our efforts  
will be meaningless if they are not free to choose between the two."  
  
The woman nodded and stepped back. A male with black hair  
and blue robes cinched with a crimson sash came forward. "I agree  
with the elder. We must live remote from our children. Gods do not  
seem mysterious if they are one's neighbors. Rather-"   
  
"No," the Elder interrupted sharply. The humming drained  
away in the Draconians surprise. "You misunderstand, my son. We  
will not be the human's gods. We will be their demons."  
  
The man who had spoken looked angry and horrified along  
with most of the company. "Elder, you surely do not understand what  
you say."  
  
"I understand this decision more fully than you do, and my  
heart breaks a thousand times over for it. But do you wish the humans  
repeat our mistakes? No. They will abhor our kind and all that we  
stand for. They will throw stones at any of us they see. Only thus can  
they be kept safe."  
  
The male didn't answer immediately, keeping steady eye-  
contact, his pride too deeply ingrained to back down. Finally, he  
arched his back and his wings appeared, arced and haughty and  
gleaming in the twilight. The other Draconians looked at each other  
uneasily, shifting in place.  
  
"So this is your final decision. Our race will be outcasts,  
fleeing from its own inferior creations until the end of time? This is our  
fate?"  
  
The Elder looked at him levelly with the sad, resigned  
sympathy of one who knows that what they say will never be truly  
understood. "Until the humans have found their own peace, so shall it  
be."  
  
Hesitantly, the Draconians began to hum again, their song  
growing louder and louder and louder until the memory of any other  
sound was driven away.  
  
*****  
  
Hitomi woke up suddenly, like she always did after these  
things, her gaze still clouded and far away. She smiled muzzily at him  
when Van squeezed her shoulders, touching his cheek lightly with one  
finger. For all the gestures were vague, there was something wistful  
and sad in them too that made Van's stomach ache in an odd way.  
  
He could sense more than hear an uncomfortable settling  
around them. Myra was smiling in a bright, brittle way and extended  
her hand and said cheerfully, "Well, that simplified matters a bit, I  
think. I'll show you both to your rooms now, if you like."  
  
Van certainly didn't want to be in this cold, disorienting hall  
anymore, but he didn't like the sound of, "rooms?"  
  
"It certainly would be unseemly to make you share a room,  
your majesty, not to mention rude." As he continued staring at her  
stonily, Myra added, "I give you my word that she is safe for as long  
as you stay in our company, Van-sama. If nothing else, Hitomi is still  
my student."  
  
Van looked at her for another moment (which was becoming  
easier now that he could pick out difference - paler, older, a birthmark  
on her collarbone, none below her right ear) then slowly nodded.  
Leaving the chamber and walking to the new one was blurry; a sense  
of being moved and nudged in the certain directions, white gave way  
to grey and cold became colder as Hitomi's warmth left his side. Then  
he was in a stone, square room with a small bed and a large window,  
able to see and think clearly again.  
  
There was too much to think about, too many confusing,  
conflicting thoughts. Van rubbed his temple, breathing in for three  
beats and out for fifteen, tensing and relaxing the muscles of his back  
and arms, calming down. Hitomi was most probably safe - he found  
himself trusting Myra although he was skeptical of that trust itself.  
Anyway, they wouldn't be stupid enough to hurt her if they really  
wanted something from him. He was safe and, presumably, alone. He  
should examine the room, see what he could learn from it.  
  
It was tiny and plain - just the bed and a chest of drawers for  
furniture. At least the cold wasn't quite so biting in here. Thick  
tapestries hung on all the walls except for the one directly over the  
bed, which was taken up by a huge, full-length portrait of... of...  
  
"She was beautiful, wasn't she?"  
  
Van turned around.  
  
Sarine was studying the painting thoughtfully, her hands  
clasped almost shyly behind her back. Her hair was down, and she was  
wearing a long white robe, flowers etched into the sash. She glanced  
at Van, more subdued and self-conscious than he had ever seen her,  
before returning her attention to the portrait. "You don't seem very  
surprised to see me."  
  
"I don't think anything that's been happening lately can  
surprise me anymore."  
  
Sarine looked down, almost apologetic. "I think it was painted  
when Varie-san was sixteen or seventeen. She was... legendary, even  
back then. I wish I could have met her."  
  
Van said flatly, "do you."  
  
"My mother always spoke of her so fondly. Besides, it's just  
nice to be able to meet your aunt."  
  
Van blinked hard, once, before smoothing the expression off  
his face. "I'm owed an explanation here at the very least, Sarine."  
  
Sarine glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, her neck  
turned slightly as if she meant to look at him full-on but changed her  
mind. Then she drew herself up and sniffed delicately, more like the  
Sarine he had known in Daedalus than this chalky, unassuming thing  
and walked to the window. Van followed her, then stood by her side.  
  
Outside ice on the ground. *As* the ground. There were no  
trees or grass or even the red clay of Daedalus, just plains and plains  
of ice so cloudy it looked like cheap marble that rolled and crested all  
the way to the far off North Sea. The sky was grey as if all that ice had  
drained it of blue, and the sun was sickly pale, disillusioned yellow.  
  
"The kingdom of the Draconians," Sarine said. "A stronghold  
of nothing."  
  
Van didn't answer, but Sarine didn't seem to have expected  
him to; raw slivers of bitterness crept into her voice as she continued.  
"After Gaea was created, the Draconians established themselves as  
demons and fled north and settled into a centuries long wait to see if  
the humans would learn the lessons they had not. There are only two  
hundred or so Draconians on Gaea at all times. Except for the very  
brief appointments when one will scare an unsuspecting human villager  
somewhere to keep the fear alive, they never leave this fortress. Wing  
tissue freezes if exposed to this sort of cold for too long. No one ever  
really has a chance to fly. They...*we've*...been the walking dead for  
as long as anyone can remember. Children went to bed every night  
praying that the humans prove themselves worthy soon, but gave up  
hope by the time they were grown. But as miserable as all this self-  
inflicted penance was, the Draconians still had one advantage and  
birthright left to them: the power of prophecy."  
  
For the first time since they had met, Sarine looked Van  
directly in the eyes, and for the first time Van could see something of  
himself reflected in her. She had the level gaze of someone who had  
been whittled down to simple, determined strength by a life in which  
perseverance was the only option.   
  
"We have sung of you for centuries, Van," Sarine said.  
  
Van was the first to break the stare, turning back to the  
window. The pieces of a conclusion he didn't like were fitting  
together. "But I wasn't just left to chance, was I?"  
  
Sarine smiled wryly, shaking her head into a storm of brown  
curls. "Not exactly. You were left alone all your life until now, but  
there were...preparations made before you were born."  
  
Unthinkingly, Van looked behind him. Hahaue was dressed all  
in white the way Sarine was now, sitting on a velvet couch, looking  
serenely and compassionately at something ahead of her that was now  
no longer there.  
  
"The princesses Varie and Myra were sent to marry the human  
kings of small countries, to bear their children. Half-blooded  
Draconians would rule someday, so they would have to be accepted.  
And then the children would marry and create a dynasty and an empire  
with Draconians on the throne. But then... there were unexpected  
events, and Myra was left to implement the agenda alone. After careful  
analysis, it was decided that the possibility of a successful outcome  
was less than twenty percent, so the plan was changed."  
  
"Myra returned here and sent her newborn child to live with  
her father. The princess came and visited her mother often, though, so  
she new her destiny was to marry a great king and help save her  
people. It's funny... Varie-san and Goau-san truly loved each other;  
it's in all the old stories how deep and abiding their love was. But I  
don't know if my mother ever loved Daelin the way he loved her. It's  
odd, what's left out of the books."  
  
Van looked down at his clenched fists. "Did they leave Hitomi  
out too?"  
  
Sarine winced, which Van found uncomfortably satisfying.  
"My father ruined everything," she said slowly. "He doesn't know  
anything about Draconians or all these years of planning - he just  
wanted to marry me off. If he hadn't, that girl would never have come  
here, and you would never have gone back with her and my mother  
would never have had to bring you both h "  
  
"It didn't matter if Hitomi was with me or not," Van  
interrupted sharply. "I wouldn't have agreed."  
  
It was as good as a proclamation signed and sealed. Van's  
word always was, anyway.  
  
Sarine recoiled at his voice and the look in his eyes, then bit  
her lip, looked down and looked back up at him with new resolve. "I  
don't love you either, Van."  
  
Van blinked.  
  
Sarine was in a sort of trailing-off stance even as her voice was  
steady, the tilt of her body somehow hinting at compliance. "But...  
Van... I *like* you, which was more than I was ever expecting. And I  
think you would have liked me too, if everything hadn't gotten in the  
way. But, that's not what's really important. You don't know what  
it's like for the Draconians here, but I do. Have you ever seen the eyes  
of children who know that their inheritance is a lifetime of shame and  
ice? Hell isn't hot; it's freezing, eternal confinement. You couldn't  
possibly be willing to sentence your mother's people to that. This  
couldn't possibly be easy for you and it's probably unfair of us to ask,  
but... please. Just think about it."  
  
She walked out of the room without putting her weight  
anywhere, head bowed but shoulders straight, like the widow of a  
soldier.  
  
After he heard the door click, Van folded down onto the floor,  
knees drawn up to meet his chest.  
  
In a way, it all was so *sensible*. Aristocracy was always  
positioning, always calculating which parties to send their daughters to  
where they might meet a particular son... and he needed to stop  
spending so much time in Asturia, but... since when had he ever acted  
for his happiness alone?  
  
But this was different...deeper somehow. He didn't have the  
words for it, but the essential wrongness of that choice pulled through  
him like a current. What defined him in every other case would be  
destroyed if he followed it here, somehow.  
  
But how long could he stay here? How long could *Hitomi*  
stay here, and what would they do to her after they had run out of  
patience? And Hahaue...  
  
Van rested his forehead on his kneecap, comparing two  
different but equally distant smiles.  
  
******  
  
  
Celena straightened Allen's cravat and dusted off his shoulder.  
He didn't need either, but that wasn't the point anyway.  
  
"And you're *sure* you've navigated the route correctly?" she  
said.  
  
Allen smiled, affectionate and patient. "We did the best we  
could with what we could get from Ren and Dryden's calculations.  
Besides, you would be as much at fault as the rest of us if we hadn't....  
I believe you've tied that tightly enough, Celena."  
  
She let go, annoyance melting into concern as she looked at  
the supplies being loaded into the Crusade. Dryden patted her  
shoulder.  
  
"They know where they're going, Celena-san," he said, not  
quite cheerfully because any sort of cheerfulness would have seemed  
forced. "Allen's probably the best man on Gaea to do this sort of  
thing. I've been with him on trips a thousand times more dangerous  
and made it out alright."  
  
Allen bowed very slightly. "Yes, you have. If you were not  
needed to keep up appearances with the Daedalins, we would value  
your expertise on our travels. Still, I thank you greatly for all your  
help."  
  
Dryden raised an eyebrow but only said, "It wasn't any  
trouble."  
  
"And now," Allen said, looking over his shoulder to see  
Gaddeth making gestures at him. "I must take leave of you both."  
  
Celena smiled, lips pressed together tightly to keep from  
trembling, and stood on her tiptoes to hug him. "Try to bring back  
safe; but make sure to bring yourself back safe, okay?"  
  
"I'll do the best I can."   
  
Allen pressed his forehead into her hair, briefly, and then  
boarded the airship.  
  
******  
  
In this dream, Folken was already sitting down when he got to  
the white room. Van took a chair across from him wordlessly and  
deliberately did not cross his arms. Folken would inevitably interpret it  
as sulking.  
  
After a moment Folken said, "Aren't you going to ask me for  
advice?"  
  
"I don't need your advice," Van retorted. Then felt stupid  
when Folken gently smirked at him.  
  
"That's alright," he said, leaning back in his chair. "I wasn't  
going to give you any anyway. There isn't anything you can do."  
  
Van was up like a shot, leaning his hands on the table. "What?"  
  
"It's all up to Hitomi, now. Just let her do what she does best."  
  
Van considered this. "That *was* advice, wasn't it?"  
  
Folken tilted his head to the side lazily. "Does this place seem  
familiar to you. Look around before you answer."  
  
"It's... sort of like the things on Hitomi's world," Van admitted  
grudgingly. "But sort of not." And, because he was with family. "I still  
don't understand. I don't know what I'm going to do."  
  
"So don't do anything," Folken said, just before the dream  
ended. "Just find your way home."  
  
  
End Part Six 


	7. Part 7: Eidolons

****************************************************  
The Vision of Escaflowne: A Return to Gaea  
****************************************************  
  
  
  
Part Seven -- Eidolons  
  
  
Love, it was you who said, 'Murder the killer  
we have to call life and we'd be a bare planet under a dead sun.'  
Then I loved you with the usual soft lust of October  
that says 'yes' to the coming winter and a summoning odor of balsar.  
  
Anne Stevenson  
  
  
  
*****  
  
Celena's gregariousness was fickle in nature. Sometimes she  
gorged on talk and noise so the silence wouldn't make her dwindle  
into nothing; sometimes her only salvation was in clinging to silence  
and stillness so she wouldn't drown in noise. Allen called the quality  
birdlike although he had never explained what exactly that was  
supposed to mean.  
  
And now she couldn't even ask because her brother was miles  
away and above her head, aimed for places unknown except that they  
were frozen and dangerous. But then again, Allen also wasn't here to  
lecture her about sneaking out of dinner just to laze around the  
gardens.  
  
The sky was purple-black. She would have thought it dusk  
colored except dusk had already come and deepened into night and  
now it was much closer to dawn. Celena sat on the ground, hands  
splayed behind her to support her weight. Idly, she held a hand out in  
front of her and clenched it into a loose fist except for her thumb  
which she held out in front of her to block the Mystic Moon, and  
closed one eye so the satellite disappeared completely. Celena put her  
hand back down again uneasily, wondering if that was what she really  
wanted.  
  
"I once asked Hitomi what the Mystic Moon was like," Dryden  
said behind her, not startling her because the harmonics of his voice  
were too even and mellow to ever startle anybody. "She couldn't  
answer, in so many words. I suppose it was my fault in phrasing the  
question. It covered too much for any answer to be satisfactory."  
  
"It must be hard to convey everything you mean by 'home'."  
Celena replied, patting the ground beside her. Dryden accepted the  
invitation and sat with his legs loosely folded at the knee and spread  
out at opposite angles, like wings.  
  
"Couldn't take civilization any longer, huh?"  
  
"I very seldom enjoy it."  
  
"Van can't physically tolerate it, I think," Celena said, with a  
little, nostalgic smile. "You can see his will to live slowly draining out  
of him until he's left twitching and destitute at the end of a party."  
  
"You care about him very much, don't you?" Dryden said,  
meeting her eyes, a bit more seriously than she was used to.  
  
"Not the way you mean." Celena stretched her arms above her  
head. "He's more like a little brother than anything else. And, well, he  
*trusted* me. He was the first person to really trust me and *believe*  
in me after I came back. It was the most amazing thing, it was like  
being given permission to *live* again, especially when everything was  
so confusing and scary. So I promised myself that I'd do whatever I  
could for him in return. You know?"  
  
"Not exactly," Dryden said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.  
Celena had learned over the past few days that Dryden answered every  
question carefully. "I can't really -- it would be condescending of  
anyone to say they're familiar with your particular experience. Me, I  
grew up being cared for by nurses and tutors who had nothing  
compared to me, and it made me determined to help people who  
deserved my luck but didn't have it. Does that make sense?"  
  
"Perfectly."  
  
They spend a few moments in friendly silence until Celena  
remarked idly, "It's sort of funny, when you think about it, that our  
whole world is on the brink of chaos because two crazy kids in love  
just needed some quality time -- are you alright?" she asked as Dryden  
frantically began to cough.  
  
Dryden thumped his chest a few times and cleared his  
throat."Fine, fine. Sorry." He ran a hand through his hair, casually. "I  
just realized I had to marry you was all it was."  
  
Celena laughed, clear and low. Dryden joined in almost as a  
harmony.  
  
"I was serious," he added.  
  
"Oh, I hoped you weren't," Celena moaned, scowling and  
pulling her knees up to her chest. "I was beginning to really like you  
and now you have to go and ruin it."  
  
"I'm not sure if I follow your logic, dear one."  
  
"Not to offend," Celena said with a sidelong look that was  
more rolling her eyes to the side instead of up than anything else. "But  
your spur-of-the-moment marriage declarations have proven to  
be....short lived and unsuccessful in the past."  
  
"Ah, the good lady refers to Millerna," Dryden said, dry but  
not unpleasant.  
  
"Indeed she does."  
  
He sat back on his hands the way Celena had when he found  
her that evening, staring at the stars with a wry, wistful smile. "Odd  
how that seems to have happened over a lifetime ago. I was so  
starstruck then, idealistic. Being young is heartbreaking to remember  
when you're older. I was going to prove that intelligence could replace  
anger forever, that diplomacy could make war archaic. I was going to  
win the love of a beautiful woman. Being a successful merchant and a  
humanitarian means only that you're a good tradesmen with a social  
conscience. I didn't have the first idea how to go about ruling a  
kingdom but every conviction that I did. And I was so wretchedly  
wrong about all of it. Not in principle -- Van proved me right in that,  
although if you had told me that back then I would have laughed until  
I choked -- but I'm not the one to do it. So I'm sticking to what I'm  
good at now, and there's no shame in that."  
  
"As for Millerna.... she's a remarkable lady, and I'd defend her  
tooth and nail to anyone who might say otherwise.... but now it's hard  
to think of her in any way other than how you think of Van. She was  
so delicate and reserved, or so I thought -- back when I thought you  
could learn everything there was to know about a person after five  
minutes of conversation if one were as smart as I."  
  
"Quite modest of you. And I'm hardly reserved."  
  
Dryden rolled over on his side, his elbow crooked so he could  
support his chin on his hand like he was on a chaise lounge or  
something. "Anything but," he agreed. "And that is one of the things I  
love about you, darling Celena."  
  
Celena's pulse thumped once very hard in her throat before  
going back to normal. She felt very foolish and very giddy and even  
more foolish for feeling both.  
  
Dryden continued, "I know how silly this must seem, but I  
wouldn't have said anything if I didn't think my sentiments weren't in  
the slightest bit reciprocated. Besides, you know yourself -- you  
couldn't bring yourself to love, let alone marry, anyone who would  
dream of going about it in a traditional way. You are a creature of  
drama, of spectacular and unexpected pronouncements."  
  
He sat up a little and held her hand. It looked pale and delicate  
in his, only a little bigger than his palm. It probably wasn't a perfect fit  
but she wouldn't know what one felt like; and his hand was warm,  
solid, and Celena liked the way it felt in hers.  
  
She asked, "Do you drink?"  
  
"Alcohol?" Dryden explicated, not missing a beat. "Not by my  
own inclination and then almost never to excess."  
  
"No gambling problems?"  
  
"Not that I know of."  
  
"Do you want children?"  
  
"I don't think I'm quite grown up enough myself to have them  
just yet, but I'm not adverse to the idea."  
  
"Have you ever, er, strayed in your affections?"  
  
Dryden sighed. "I cannot tell a lie. While courting Reselle  
Newslan, I was discovered kissing Susara Hemnoir on the cheek."  
  
"On the *cheek*? How old were you?"  
  
"Thirteen."  
  
Celena bit the inside of her bottom lip, restraining the stirring  
of a marveling that wanted to bloom right away. "You thought telling  
me that was important?"  
  
Dryden shrugged. "It was the answer to your question."  
  
Celena bit her lip again harder this time, preparing herself for  
sharper stuff. "And you don't mind that I was-"  
  
And all of a sudden, she could see herself reflected in miniature  
by his dark eyes as Dryden gently cupped her cheek. "I never met  
Dilandau. I barely knew who he was or what he did. But I know you,  
Celena, and you're right here."  
  
Celena turned away from his hand and his eyes. She thought  
she might curl up and cry and that was very funny because she also  
wanted to jump up or dance or anything like that just for the sake of  
moving, in order to feel the joy of movement.   
  
After a minute she sighed like it was punctuation and stood up,  
brushing off her skirt "Okay, let's do it."  
  
Knees drawn to his chest, Dryden looked up at her, surprised  
but compliant."Now?"  
  
"Good a time as any. There's bound to be a place still open in  
this country that will marry us without much fuss."  
  
Dryden rose too, kissed her and withdrew to offer her the  
crook of his arm. Dawn wasn't far off. Dew made the air smell like it  
does after rain, like freshly turned soil and unmined potential.  
  
"You know this means Allen will be your brother-in-law."  
  
He said gravely, "See the sacrifices I am willing to make for  
you, my love?"  
  
******  
  
Sarine had forgotten how cold it was on Icarus, especially in  
the main hall and especially dressed in a Draconian maiden's  
traditional linen. At least she had been allowed to wear coats and  
scarves when she was younger. The cold up here was a very thin kind,  
thin like a knife; she waited to grow accustomed to it each visit but  
never did.   
  
The Draconians around her weren't providing much body heat  
despite the masses assembled. The freeze must have gotten into their  
veins long ago. Myra wasn't improving the environment with her  
report either. Sarine's mother -- ever a chameleon -- was speaking in  
stark terms and a cool voice; the few times they had conversed while  
she was on Earth, Myra had sounded so warm. Which had to do with  
the surrounding weather, not whom she was speaking to, and Sarine  
should stop letting that bother her since that was just the way things  
were.  
  
"It has been prophesied-" An Elder started.  
  
"Prophecies are not foolproof, especially when they predict  
something desired for generations. And this one no longer seems  
applicable."  
  
"Are you saying that our work, including the contributions of  
your daughter and yourself, is not as significant-"  
  
"With all due respect, I am only saying an heir is no longer  
ours to produce," Myra said.  
  
Sarine felt her nails biting into her palm and forced her hands  
to relax.  
  
"The girl can be disposed of."  
  
"She has attachments to Earth. It will look suspicious."  
  
"What of that?"  
  
"He would never forgive us." When Myra switched the subject  
instead of arguing it through, she was admitting something although  
what exactly was hard to tell. "He will not cooperate if he feels he is  
being manipulated or used. He would, however, be willing to  
negotiate if we dropped our current tact and approached him plainly.  
He is too used to wielding force to allow-"  
  
"But this isn't about force!" Sarine shouted before she could  
stop herself.   
  
A hundred or so Draconians turned to stare at her  
reproachfully for speaking out of turn. Sarine stood up carefully, and  
tucked her hands behind her back to keep from fidgeting. Couldn't  
turn back now. "I mean... I have spoken with him and he does not  
seem entirely opposed to following the original plan to its  
conclusions."  
  
Myra was looking at her appraisingly but Sarine couldn't tell  
what the judgement was. "During our communications, Sarine, you  
and I discussed how this is not a case of failure of the operation, only  
that situations are such that the operation could not possibly succeed  
no matter how flawlessly it was being executed."  
  
"Any self-respecting agent can adapt themselves to  
successfully complete a mission, let alone a mission that was the only  
reason you were born in the-"  
  
"And you are not adapting, Sarine," Myra said, almost like a  
mother would.  
  
Sarine clenched her hands into fist when she felt them start to  
shake. "I'm not giving up! This can still be done! *I* can still do this!  
And you can't nullify a motion if a key member of its implementation  
isn't willing to do so, and you know it!"  
  
The members of the assembly were exchanging glances. They  
were not uncomfortable, exactly, but public matters were for public  
discussion and private matters were for private discussion and the two  
were clearly blending together here.  
  
Myra stood tall, meeting Sarine's eyes. It was the way she  
looked at everybody, the way she always looked at Sarine. "This will  
not end well."  
  
Sarine drew her own shoulders back. "It will be executed as it  
was decreed and it will end in the same way."  
  
She wouldn't back down. She didn't think she *could*. If Van  
had lived up to his part in the prophecy, Sarine had to live up to hers.  
  
...and the scene fazed out into white, noiseless static, and  
Hitomi woke up, flustered and sweaty like she always was after that  
sort of dream.  
  
  
She settled back under the covers eventually; shivering, as the  
heat of the dream turned very cold, cold you would use to try to  
freeze something in yourself that just refused to die, and the blankets  
weren't enough.  
  
******  
  
He was remembering a day when the link between them had  
been particularly strong and they both had been reading, which made it  
easier to think in words instead of memories or sensations, and so they  
had had the closest thing they could to a conversation.  
  
*Ne, ne, Van. Listen to this.* She was playful, the equivalent  
of Merle ready to pounce.   
*Yeah?*  
  
*In my textbook it says that hearing voices in your head is a  
symptom of being crazy* An echo of the actual quote underneath her  
voice, complicated and filled with words he didn't understand. *What  
do you think about that?*  
  
He wanted to play too, but he had a headache and work to do,  
and the temptation to do otherwise was making him grumpy. *I  
dunno. What am I supposed to think?*  
  
*Van~!* said in the way she said 'hmmph!' which was always  
undefinably endearing. *You're supposed to think whatever it is you  
think.*  
  
*I think you don't want to concentrate on what you're  
supposed to be doing, is what I think.*  
  
A few bubbles of sheepishness floated towards the surface and  
popped; his dodges had piqued her genuine curiosity. *You're more  
interesting than studying. Do you think you're crazy, Van?*  
  
She wouldn't stop until he considered the question, so he did.  
*No, I don't think I'm crazy. But it wouldn't matter if I was, as long  
as I could be a good ruler*  
  
It subdued her immediately, but the sudden introversion made  
him think twice about brushing her off.  
  
*Van?* she offered after a time, quietly.  
  
*Yes?*  
  
*I don't think we're crazy either. At least not for this. We  
might be crazy in a lot of other ways, but not because of this.*  
  
It made him smile, then and now.  
  
Myra paused fractionally when she noticed the smile, so he  
smoothed it over. Myra gave him a look, but continued the lecture  
on... something. Probably the portrait gallery they were walking  
through.  
  
Someone had explained to him that the daylight lasted longer  
the farther north you were, and he wasn't able to measure how long  
they had been there. The sun had been out when his body had simply  
shut down from exhaustion and he had dreamed about Folken. It was  
still out when he had woken up. Whether night had passed in between  
or not he didn't know. Being lost was not an integral part of Van's  
makeup and he didn't like it.  
  
After Myra and Sarine's initial overtures, the Draconian's  
ultimatum hadn't been brought up again. Instead, they seemed to be  
taking him on some sort of sightseeing tour of Icarus, which was  
frustrating nearly as much because it was as bizarre as it was pointless.  
They had let him visit Hitomi after he had demanded too. To their  
credit and his relief, she was fine - pale and cold and bored from being  
shut in a room - but not hurt. He had spent a fairly odd half-hour with  
his head in her lap, describing his childhood memories in non-sequiturs  
as Hitomi stroked his hair until a guard made him leave. If it were  
anyone else but Hitomi, it would have been an embarrassing display of  
weakness, but Hitomi always seemed to think that his lapses into  
frantic confession were a strength in themselves.  
  
"...And usually people stop daydreaming when I insert  
references to spotted dalmatian-hyena hybrids into my lectures, but  
you're just so completely lost in your thoughts that even that's not  
working, right, Van?"  
  
"Ah," Van replied distantly.  
  
Amazingly, after only three hours of this, Myra began to lose  
her patience. "Being a brat stopped being an effective method of  
getting your way once you hit puberty, Van."  
  
"I'm not a sulking child," Van said, sounding nearly collected  
enough to convince someone who had just walked into the  
conversation that he had not been a sulking child. "I just refuse to  
listen to people who kidnap me and Hitomi."  
  
The furrows of irritation lining Myra's mouth and forehead  
smoothed over. She looked sympathetic and compassionate; she  
looked exactly like Hahaue did holding out her arms in welcome and  
comfort when Van cried, and he lost the exchange because of that,  
even though she thought he had won.  
  
"Oh...Van," she said, softly. "You're right, you know. And the  
sad thing is that I'm the best friend both you and Hitomi have here."  
  
A corner pocket of intuition niggled that he should pay  
attention to her now.  
  
"What does that mean?"  
  
In an oddly teenaged gesture, Myra leaned back against the  
wall where the gold gilt was chipping off, but the carvings were ornate  
enough to still be visible. "It means I'm the only council member of  
any standing who's campaigning to send you back home. And they've  
only pretended to listen to me this long because I've headed this  
project for the last thirty years."  
  
He had known that, but having to face it was frightening.  
"Then what are you planning to do with Hitomi?"  
  
Myra didn't answer.  
  
"What will happen to her if I agree? What will happen if I  
don't?"  
  
She looked at Van now, her eyes dark like gypsy eyes, like and  
unlike Hahaue's, and for the first time he could look at her and see the  
familiarity and dissimilarity to Hahaue at the same time, see that she  
was related, but neither a clone, an imposter or a stranger.  
  
"I don't know you very well, Van," she said. "And I doubt if I  
love you like a good aunt should. Humans on Earth have some  
interesting theories about love and having to earn it even between  
relations, which I'm rather inclined to agree with. But I did love my  
sister, loved her dearly, and if nothing else, you're family, and that  
stands for something. And, regardless of any other roles I might have  
been playing at the time, I was Hitomi's teacher for four years, and I  
*did* become attached to her. I would even venture to say that I love  
her, that she's earned it. So, I swear to you, Van, that while I have any  
power or influence I will not let her be hurt or used as a pawn, as  
much for my sake as yours."  
  
Van didn't know what to say, except maybe to thank her. But  
he didn't think he was ready to say that either, so silence settled  
between them like an agreement until a voice said, very quietly, "I  
thought that might be it."  
  
Sarine was standing slightly behind one of the columns  
supporting the portrait hall. She looked something like a portrait  
herself, that numb and detached.   
  
"I'm sorry to interrupt," she said, automatically, still pale and  
drawn, as if her mind was too blank to do anything but fall back on  
formalities. Shock -- he remembered. Hitomi would call this shock.  
She continued in stops and starts, as if the valve separating thought  
from speech had shut down. "I mean, I was pretty sure you were  
arguing for something other than the plan, and I thought maybe you  
were trying to hurt me.... but it's just that you didn't care enough to  
think about me either way, did you... you just wanted to help him...  
because it would help her... a *human*... all this time I thought it was  
because I was just half *Draconian*... but no..."  
  
"Sarine," Myra said, and her mistake was in saying it as a  
warning.  
  
Sarine looked up, cheeks flushed. "No! All that work - and -  
and - sure *she* can't be a pawn, but my whole life... what, what am I  
supposed to be now? I won't just let you throw me away, either of  
you! And, and, I'm *not* sorry I interrupted!" She finished, almost  
triumphantly, and fled the room without another word.  
  
And Myra seemed almost confused as she stared at the spot  
where her daughter had just been. She stepped forward with one foot,  
but it was a singular motion, more of a statement than an intention.  
  
And Van knew he should do something, except *he* wasn't  
the one who could do anything, and all he could do was think about  
how funny it was that the things that decided destiny and fate were  
domestic -- family and anger and knotted, confused and confusing,  
love.  
  
When Myra regained her composure, she was reserved. "I'm  
sorry you had to see that, Van."  
  
"Folken was always Hahaue's favorite," Van said before he  
could think about it.  
  
Myra turned her head swiftly, expression startled and slightly  
angry. "What-"   
  
"I mean, she loved me, and I always knew she loved me," Van  
continued, matter-of-factly. "But she loved Folken more. He was older  
or they got along better or something. I wasn't enough to fill his place  
when he left."  
  
"This isn't a matter of favoritism, Van," Myra began.  
  
She was lecturing, and that was just too much. "How the hell  
can you explain to me before you even talk to her?"  
  
Myra, for the first time since he had known her, did not look  
like she knew the answer.  
  
*****   
  
Hitomi was fairly certain that in her position a more interesting  
person would waste away elegantly or figure out how she and Van  
could escape. But she had never claimed to be anything more than  
ordinary, so Hitomi simply slept.  
  
It might have been a coping mechanism or a symptom of  
depression, she would readily admit, but she still thought it had more  
to do with being so cold and how the only real source of warmth was  
under the covers. Besides, she was terribly tired. So Hitomi slept,  
mostly in fits of uneasy dozes, the kind with vivid dreams you wake up  
from with a little jerk because you think you're falling.  
  
So when she woke up with a start, certain she was being  
watched, Hitomi had expected the conviction to be the tail end of a  
dream when it turned out to actually be true.  
  
When the girl noticed Hitomi was awake, she wiped her eyes  
with the back of her hand and sniffed. And stared at her.  
  
"Uh...hello?" Hitomi said a little thickly, sitting up and  
smoothing her hair over.  
  
The girl just kept staring at her with hard eyes. She looked  
familiar, and now Hitomi remembered having seen her once or twice,  
mainly in dreams, and that she had been presented as a threat which  
wasn't at all dangerous.  
  
Hitomi swung her legs around the side of the bed to face the  
girl -- Sarine, something provided for her. Sarine. "Can I help you?"  
Which wasn't the right thing to say, but she had nothing else to offer.  
  
Sarine pursed her lips but they still trembled. She was shaking  
all over, Hitomi saw now, like she wasn't steady enough to support  
herself upright, but the steeliness in her eyes hinted anger was part of  
it too.  
  
Hitomi's instincts took over. "Here, you look like you're  
falling over. Come on, sit down." She tugged on the girl's wrists  
gently, and Sarine folded into place beside her on the bed, like a  
ragdoll but didn't react otherwise. Hitomi felt her forehead. "Do you  
need something to eat?"  
  
The girl's gaze focused on her for the first time. Although it  
was still blurry, there was definitely something else there besides  
shock, something nakedly hostile and horrifically fascinating,  
concentrated like the core of the flame. Hitomi was almost frozen by  
it, the way cobras are supposed to hypnotize you. She put her hand  
down, slowly and uneasily.  
  
"I-I should have gone to the high council," Sarine murmured,  
sounding dazed despite the narrow intensity of her expression. "I  
know I should have, I knew, but... I didn't know what I could say...  
about Myra... about-about you -- and I realized that I had never really  
met you even though you had ruined everything... and that seemed so  
funny... and I needed to see..."  
  
Sarine was shaking harder now, not from unsteadiness, now,  
the vague, lost, quality evaporating in the heat of righteous, howling  
fury.   
  
"How dare you!" The accusation was both a shriek and a sob,  
and Sarine raised her hand and slapped Hitomi across the cheekbone  
hard enough for something to crack.  
  
Hitomi cried out --  
  
at the pain but not at the pain, not at *this* pain not from  
*her* pain, because with the blow she could feel the force behind it,  
she saw, she *knew*...  
  
Loneliness, cold and deep and biting like splintering ice; a  
purpose, a destiny, that was everything that was a purpose in itself. A  
tool, a puppet which -- cruelly, inexplicably -- had been given a mind  
and a soul; a secret and guilt, guilt with every bedtime story and royal  
proclamation; being too good for one home and not good enough for  
the other.  
  
A lifetime of walking through empty hallways, of waiting,  
waiting, waiting; playing different roles for so long who knew if there  
was anything underneath the costumes, but it was all for the purpose,  
the glorious, the stupid, the *right*--  
  
and then and then and now it was time, and he might not be so  
bad, this might not be so bad, and they would love her and be proud of  
her and mother  
  
and hope was snapped at both ends and there was nothing and  
there would never be nothing as there had only been nothing before--  
  
Hitomi's face was still turned away from Sarine by the force of  
the blow. She could hear the other girl panting.  
  
Hitomi turned back and said in a still, small voice. "It isn't fair.  
You're right."  
  
Raw emotion that had been nearly coming off of Sarine like  
spurts of electricity simply evaporated, leaving Sarine looking like she  
had been punched in the stomach. Her mouth hung open, just a little.  
  
"What you've gone through. You didn't deserve it. Any of it.  
It must have been horrible." Hitomi's cheek was starting to throb and  
she could feel herself beginning to cry, but she continued, not quite  
meeting Sarine's eyes. "It wasn't fair at all; it shouldn't have happened  
to you. You must have been so brave. It wasn't right, it wasn't fair,  
I'm so sorry all that happened to you."  
  
Sarine looked almost horrified. Her eyes were as wet as  
Hitomi's felt. She sat limply now as if the string that had been keeping  
her upright had been cut.  
  
"That's... that's not fair," she said, tremulously. "You can't...  
you can't just..."  
  
And Sarine began to cry in thick, guttural wails; and she  
accepted Hitomi's offered comfort as if she were grateful for it.  
  
******  
  
Condensation clung to the instrument panel in the control  
room, and frost was etched onto The Crusade's portholes. Allen  
doubted it would get cold enough to affect the propellers or the  
machinations of the engine itself before they reached their destination,  
but a few men had volunteered to perch on the flats by the landing  
skids to watch for signs of such things. The vessel had been traveling  
at a steady clip for most of the journey and, except for the men in  
charge of the  
sails, there was not much else to attend to. Most of the crew were  
huddled in the hull to keep warm and play cards and rest up for  
whatever would happen next.  
  
"About three thousand costas 'til Icarus," Gaddeth reported  
absently, lounging in a chair in the control room. Allen, standing next  
to him with folded arms, nodded.  
  
"Are we plannin' to land or just lower altitude or what when  
we get there? Just want to be able to prepare."  
  
"To be honest, I have very little idea of what will happen," said  
Allen. "We will just have to be alert and wait to see what's to come."  
  
******  
  
When Sarine wasn't in the main hall they were rather relieved,  
but when she wasn't in her quarters Myra began to look worried, and  
when she wasn't in the music room (which Myra claimed was a  
favorite haunt) Van began to feel it. And when Myra stopped dead in  
the hallway then wheeled around on her heel to stride in the opposite  
direction, Van somehow knew that she was headed for the room  
Hitomi was being kept and that Sarine would be there.  
  
Fortunately, the door was unlocked, and they near bent its  
hinges opening it. For all their hurry, they found both Sarine and  
Hitomi sitting on the cot. Sarine's head was on Hitomi's shoulder as  
Hitomi rocked lightly back and forth, one hand resting on the back of  
Sarine's head. Sarine was crying, but they were leftover tears, the  
runoff after a storm. She was trying to talk, mostly unintelligibly, in  
between hiccups and sniffles, to which Hitomi would murmur things in  
reply or make a soft sound of assent.  
  
Thinking about what Folken had said last night, what it was  
that Hitomi did best, he was surprised that he had not expected to find  
this scene.  
  
Hitomi looked up and blinked. "Tsuka -- Myra-san?" And then  
her gaze flickered to Van and she stiffened as if fighting the reflex to  
get up. "Van!"  
  
Hearing her mother's name, Sarine nearly hopped away from  
Hitomi with one last explosive sniff. She eyed Myra warily, but she  
seemed too drained to be very angry anymore.  
  
Myra, for her part, was close to tears herself; she was smiling  
so she wasn't sad, maybe with relief or a sort of thankful pride. She  
walked over with almost formal grace to the bed, to her daughter.  
Sarine backed up, unconsciously, rubbing the tear chafed skin under  
her eyes.   
  
Myra looked just looked down at her for a minute, then leaned  
over and hugged her, tightly. Sarine stiffened, with an intake of air that  
might or might not have been a gasp, then melted into her mother's  
arms, burying her head in her chest.   
  
Maybe it was the position or her earlier divulgences or the fact  
that he just realized how youthful Myra was, but it occurred to Van  
that Sarine was young -- barely older than he had been when he had  
met Hitomi, barely more than a child.  
  
Hitomi watched the two of them for a moment. Then she got  
up, and Van didn't know if he had walked over to her or she to him or  
if they had met somewhere in between, but he was holding her and her  
head was nestled underneath his chin and everything was alright.  
  
When Myra drew away, she cupped Sarine's head gently  
between her hands. "I have a few things to attend to," she said quietly.  
"But when I get back we are long overdue for a talk."  
  
Sarine blinked, taking this in, then nodded.   
  
"Where are you going?"  
  
Myra stood up fully and turned around to raise an eyebrow at  
Van, whom Hitomi was already giving a meaningful look about being  
rude.  
  
"Just to take care of a few odds and ends," she said. "Before  
you both go home."  
  
******  
  
Niabi looked like the sort of person whose domicile could be  
featured on the cover of a interior design magazine, and Seiko loved  
her in part because her apartment was actually as messy as his own.  
She was also the sort of person who taught her boyfriend to refer to  
her as a 'person' not a 'girl'; he, in turn, had convinced her to quit  
smoking so Seiko figured they were pretty much perfect for each  
other.  
  
One of the ways the balance between them worked, a key one,  
was that Seiko was the romantic and Niabi was the sceptic. That  
usually suited him just fine except for times like this when she was  
trying to convince him that yesterday had been an acid flashback.  
  
"But I've never *taken* LSD," he pointed out.  
  
Niabi shrugged, adjusting the grocery bag full of clothes in her  
arms. "So maybe he was a cosplayer. Maybe Hitomi's been secretly  
cosplaying or something and she's been too embarrassed to tell us."  
  
"She only agreed to go to that convention with me last year if  
neither of us was dressed up. Besides, I've never seen a character  
wearing the outfit that guy had."  
  
"Maybe he's an original cosplayer."  
  
"An original... what would be the point of cosplaying as an  
original character?" Seiko said, exasperated at how girls sometimes  
just did not get the point.  
  
"Look." Niabi shrugged again. "All I'm saying is that there's  
got to be a... saner explanation than... what were you saying it was  
again?"  
  
"I wasn't saying it was anything!" Seiko started waving his  
arms; Niabi side-stepped away from him to protect the grocery bag.  
"All I said was that Hitomi came to my place with this weird guy  
wearing weird clothes who didn't speak Japanese, and she seemed sort  
of upset and she hasn't returned the stuff she asked for like she said  
she would, so we should go to her place and see if everything's okay!"  
  
Niabi pressed a finger to his nose. "Seiko, honey. Inhale."  
  
Seiko went cross-eyed trying to focus on it, and they both  
giggled a little.  
  
"Good morning, young scholars!"  
  
They must not have heard the teacher come up behind them...  
what was her name -- Seiko had never had a course with her, but  
Niabi had taken a few and liked them, and the professor was some sort  
of mentor to Hitomi. She was sexy in that older-sophisticated-I-am-  
so-far-out-of-your-league-you-might-as-well-be-playing-tee-ball way.  
He had never noticed that before, funnily enough, and how did she  
take care of all that hair?  
  
"Tsukawa-sensei!" Niabi bowed to the sound of brown paper  
bending and crunching.  
  
"I'm glad I caught the both of you together. It will make things  
much quicker." Tsukawa looked up, blinking at the summer sunshine.  
"Outdoors, though. Ah well, suppose it can't be helped."  
  
"...wh..." Niabi replied.  
  
Tsukawa looked back at them. It may have been a trick of the  
light, but Seiko could have sworn her eye's were shaped like a cat's.  
"I must ask a favor of you. It won't take more than half a day, you will  
be in absolutely no danger at any time and you will be helping Hitomi,  
and possibly an entire planet, immensely. Will you do it?"  
  
"...uh..." Niabi elaborated, the take-charge one.  
  
It wasn't the shape of Tsukawa's eyes that made Seiko think  
of cats, it was the expression in them. There was an unrepentant  
arrogance, an unquestioned feline superiority that made it very plain  
that asking was merely a formality. In the end, it didn't matter whether  
they agreed at all.  
  
Seiko knew there was a great deal he didn't know about. The  
universe didn't really need to be making that point as clear as it had  
for the past two days. If this woman was just crazy they'd probably be  
able to figure it out before she could seriously hurt them, and if she  
wasn't...  
  
Then they would probably be passing up something really cool.  
  
"Sure," Seiko said brightly. He had been expecting Niabi's  
whack in the stomach and took it full-force. He deserved it, really.  
  
"Wonderful!" said Tsukawa, ignoring Niabi's inferred  
objection. And then there was wind, half sucking him up into a  
vacuum and half pushing him up from bellow, and a bright *bright*  
light...  
  
He was lying face down on something very hard and craggy  
with grit, feeling like someone had taken him apart and glued him back  
together improperly and blinking at what for all the world seemed to  
be flourescent lighting. The air was slightly cooler than the muggy  
summer humidity he had been walking in. Niabi -- or someone who  
could groan just like her -- was to his left.  
  
"Again I'm *terribly* sorry about this disturbance," Tsukawa  
said, sounding nothing so much as like a flight attendant. "The light  
and temperature will regulated for your convenience, and you will be  
returned to your home planet in a few hours time. Leaving this cave -  
you are both in a cave, by the way - will expose you to elemental  
conditions in which the average human would die in under thirty  
minutes. I would recommend asking Hitomi if you have any questions  
upon your return. Thank you!"  
  
She was gone before they were able to stand up and confront  
her, which they really should have expected.  
  
End Part Seven 


	8. Part 8: This Hallowed House

*********************************************  
The Vision of Escaflowne: A Return to Gaea  
*********************************************  
  
  
Part Eight -- This Hallowed House  
  
  
What we call the beginning is often the end  
And to make an end is to make a beginning.  
The end is where we start from.  
Quick now, here, now, always-  
A condition of complete simplicity  
(Costing not less than everything)  
And all shall be well and  
All manner of things shall be well  
When the tongues of flame are in-folded  
Into the crowned knot of fire  
And the fire and the rose are one.  
T.S. Eliot  
  
  
****  
  
The thing about flying was that you shouldn't over think it. In the  
air, Van's wings instinctively knew what to do the way his lungs  
automatically knew how to breathe; his conscious mind would only  
mess things up if it tried to take charge. So Van didn't really bother  
paying attention to the details involved in keeping himself aloft, just on  
traveling fast and steady on course.  
  
/"I don't understand," Hitomi had said. "Couldn't Sarine just refuse  
to marry Van?"  
  
"Ah, for the ignorance of the liberated woman. Hitomi-chan,  
whether or not she *wants* to get married has very little influence on  
whether Sarine will or will not do so."  
  
"Oh..."/  
  
He tried to stay as close to cloud level as he could to avoid  
detection, but the air was thin up there, and cold. He rode lower drafts  
when his wings started to stiffen and his vision blurred. He used to  
have dreams about flying as high as he could, trying to reach the part  
of the sky where he'd be able to see blue, only pure blue everywhere.  
He would wake up frustrated and vaguely lonely because that blue  
was unreachable, even in dreams. The sky here was pale and wintry.  
There wasn't even any blue to aim for.  
  
/"So a distraction has been provided," Myra had continued. "In  
order to give you both time to escape."  
  
"A distraction?"  
  
"A perfectly willing distraction."  
  
"What?"  
  
A steady drumming. The door opened, a young Draconian looking  
earnest, breathing hard.  
  
"Myra-sama! Humans have been detected in the Northern cliffs!"  
  
A nod from Myra. "Has reconnaissance been dispatched?"  
  
"Yes, Myra-sama."  
  
"Good. I will be in the main hall shortly to deal with this crisis."  
  
"Yes, Myra-sama." The door closed.  
  
"A *willing* distraction?" Hitomi had bristled with suspicion.  
  
"Consenting and perfectly safe. A spell has been put on the cave to  
prevent the Draconians from detecting anything more than their  
presence, and they will be teleported away as soon as Van and  
yourself leave Icarus."  
  
"About that..."/  
  
Hitomi had told him to flex his fingers and toes as much as possible  
while he flew which he had done faithfully at the start but less so now,  
as it was beginning to hurt. His wings worried him more. They were  
beginning to protest every cadence of flight. Barely more than skin and  
bone, the feathers could provide only so much insulation against the  
cold.  
  
/"Not together?" Sarine this time, incredulous.  
  
"No. She'll go to her home and I'll go to mine."  
  
"But what's the point? What's the point of *anything* if you don't-"  
  
"The *point*," Van had said with a ferocity he was trying to make  
himself feel. "Is that Hitomi will be safe and things will go back to the  
way they're supposed to be."  
  
Hitomi eyes had been fixed on the floor./  
  
He could see the sea a fair ways off, opaquely black and rippling,  
like volcanic rock. How many wingbeats would it take to reach that  
sea? How many to reach Allen flying over it?  
  
/"Besides," Myra had added, trying to dispel some of the tension.  
"Since Van undoubtedly sent for reinforcements, it makes more sense  
for him to go and meet them while you and I just use an energist to  
send Hitomi home."/  
  
Thinking too much about anything wasn't a good idea. He had been  
drifting down to nearly glacier level while he calculated.  
  
/"How?" Hitomi had asked softly.  
  
"What?"  
  
"How can Van meet them in time?"  
  
"Think a minute. He *is* half-Draconian."  
  
Hitomi had nearly smiled, painfully enough to break Van a million  
times over. "So he is."/  
  
Van took a deep breath that hurt his lungs, and shot upwards  
towards the clouds as his wings screamed.  
  
*****  
  
Hitomi was fidgeting. She sat on the bed, Myra watching her from  
the windowsill, waiting for Sarine to fetch an energist and come back,  
and fidgeted. She fidgeted in the way her mother would bustle around  
the house smoothing nonexistent creases in the couch and organizing  
the bookshelves while her father trailing behind asking, "Why are you  
angry?" and her mother would say, "I'm *not* angry" in a high, tight  
voice, and continue bustling.  
  
As he had flown away, Van had looked so insubstantial, just  
something that could be tossed around by the wind. She wouldn't see  
him again; she wouldn't even really know if he was okay, except for  
some gut reassurance that Van would always be okay because of who  
he was and her love for him. He had been through much worse, after  
all.  
  
Although he hadn't been alone then.  
  
It made her angry, somehow, that all that mattered to him was that  
she would be safe, even though all that mattered to her was that he  
was. In the past few days, the two of them had come to the unspoken  
understanding that all they really needed at this point was for each of  
them to be safe, separate but secure in their own lives. Personal  
fulfillment was secondary to survival; if Van could live and be happy,  
it wouldn't be so terrible that Hitomi wouldn't be a part of that  
happiness. She understood that now.  
  
She thought she understood it, anyway.  
  
Maybe, if Hitomi asked, Myra would find a way to tell her if Van  
made it back to Fanelia.  
  
"He's got a lot of his father in him," Myra said, interrupting her  
thoughts. "And a lot of his mother too. You couldn't ask to meet two  
more stubborn people. He'll be okay."  
  
Hitomi nodded.  
  
Myra hopped off the sill and plopped down on the bed by Hitomi.  
The gesture was familiar, casual. There was no real reason for it not to  
be, all things considered.  
  
"I want to thank you," Hitomi said slowly. "For all your help. If  
you weren't on our side-"  
  
"I am very much the wrong person to thank." Myra looked at her  
own hands for a moment, then at Hitomi. As if coming to a decision,  
she laid a hand protectively against the girl's stomach.  
  
"Besides," Myra said. "Draconians take care of their own."  
  
The idea was so staggering, so huge, it weighed everything down  
until it all clicked into place. It almost made this chapter of her life  
make sense, if only almost.  
  
Sarine dashed in, slamming the door behind her and panting. "Got  
it," she said, delighted by her own naughtiness, and took a small green  
energist out from somewhere in the vicinity of her bodice. "It was  
tricky. I had to sneak past some guards, make some illusions. Don't  
think I was spotted, though. Here you go, Hitomi."  
  
Hitomi took it, rolling it between her hands. This one was so small.  
It looked almost like a marble, and Hitomi thought about the  
difference between ordinary and extraordinary things and how maybe  
it was all a matter of what you thought something was capable of.  
  
"Thank you," she told Sarine. She stood up, took a few steps away  
from the bed, looked back at Myra. "Thank you both."  
  
Sarine smiled, still a little breathless. "I'm glad I got a chance to  
meet you, Hitomi."  
  
Hitomi smiled back, as much as she could. She closed her eyes.  
  
For a moment, the room filled with light, frenetic, unstable light  
like a magnified spark. It hurt, and Hitomi dropped the energist with a  
surprised cry. Except for that, nothing had changed.  
  
Myra and Sarine exchanged dismayed glances.  
  
"What... What happened?" Hitomi asked, a little breathless herself  
now.  
  
"It's not the energist," Sarine said, preemptively. "It might be small,  
but it's powerful enough for transportation."  
  
Hitomi picked it up, part of her surprised that it wasn't any warmer  
than before she had dropped it. "Then... I must not know how to use  
it. Can one of you take it? Send me home?"  
  
The two Draconians looked at each other again, conveying a  
specially coded message that annoyed Hitomi because this whole thing  
was starting to panic her.  
  
"Well..." Myra said, carefully. "I don't think we can. You figured a  
lot of this out yourself, Hitomi. I think you know why it won't work."  
  
Hitomi looked out the window, out at ice and snow that had  
swallowed Van, and forced herself to think.  
  
"Is...is it because even after everything... I still don't *want* to  
leave?"  
  
"And Van doesn't really want you to leave either. Those seem like  
the most logical explanations."  
  
"That's...that's just stupid!" Hitomi nearly threw the energist at the  
wall but wasn't quite angry enough, so she threw it on the bed and sat  
down next to it. It felt perversely pleasing to be upset. "Of course we  
don't *want* this! But we know that this is the right thing to do!  
We're being mature!"  
  
"You are, you are. But that's just not how things work here."  
  
Hitomi cradled her head in her hands. "So what am I suppose to  
do? You can't help wanting something, even if you know you  
shouldn't."  
  
Sarine looked like she wanted to move towards her for a moment,  
sit next to her or something, and though Hitomi was grateful for the  
sentiment she was still oddly glad the girl didn't go through with it.  
She wasn't in the mood for comfort, especially from someone who  
probably didn't know how to give it well.   
  
She couldn't do this. This wasn't a fair thing to be asked to do.  
  
Sarine looked at her mother again, for guidance, but Myra was  
studying Hitomi although not seemingly inclined to speak herself.  
Sarine took a deep breath.  
  
"I don't think we really know," she said, not particularly tactful, but  
Hitomi wasn't in the mood for tact either. "And even if we did, telling  
you wouldn't help. I think it's something you have to work out for  
yourself. But don't worry, we have some time. So we'll just wait."  
  
*****  
  
Van was losing altitude. Not even very gradually -- he would  
swerve down for a few strokes, realize it, and fight his way back up,  
but the overall affect was a distinct loss of height. Sometime during  
the last few hours the distance between him and the ground had come  
to symbolize a kind of security, and the forfeited space made him  
uneasy.  
  
The cold wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for the wind. He had  
gotten as used to the temperature as he was likely to get, but then the  
wind would blast, blowing him back or down or to the side, and it  
would be too cold to even breathe until it was over.  
  
Recovering from the wind was also taking longer and longer, and  
Van realized that he was tiring. He didn't have much time to spare, but  
it was foolish to pretend stamina was limitless, and it was better to  
stop now, while he was over land, than fall into the water.  
  
He swooped down, and saw an outcropping of rock that might  
provide some shelter from the wind. He landed, skittering a little as he  
found his balance and his footing. Van sat, hugging his knees to his  
chest and folding his wings around him like a canopy. He was shaking.  
  
He could do this. He could do this because it was the right thing to  
do, and Hitomi would be safe and happy and that's all that mattered,  
and so he would find his way home.  
  
His home that was not her home, and would never be.  
  
In his exhaustion and in a land that only tolerated what was in its  
most exact form, Van let that hurt.  
  
Because they didn't belong together and they didn't really belong  
apart either. Right now, Van felt like the only thing that had ever  
existed, and it was unbearable.  
  
It *could not be borne*. Life simply could not continue this way.  
Miles away, inside a stone castle, Hitomi had not long since reached  
the same conclusion.  
  
And for whatever else may be said about it, life is nothing if not  
about adaptation.  
  
Van couldn't say what made him look up, but he opened the curtain  
of his wings a fraction.  
  
Hitomi was there.  
  
She was clearly in the same room he had left her, he could see the  
stone walls, the furniture. The sky had opened up directly in front of  
him to where she was, framing her with glowing light. She blinked,  
surprised, so she must have been able to see him too.  
  
Then she smiled, slowly, and it was a smile that had enough love  
for the whole world, but it was all for him.  
  
Walking to her, his wings folded behind him, Van could feel  
himself smiling in return.   
  
They met right at the very edge of the rift, and held each other. The  
world changed, shifted, poured darkness out of somewhere and left  
nothing where it had been.  
  
And then, just as quickly it was over.  
  
The wind still roared around him, but Van barely registered the  
cold. He flexed his fingers and his wings, and took off, feeling as if he  
could fly for miles.  
  
*****  
  
Sarine was leaning against the wall, playing with a strand of hair,  
when she noticed a flicker of movement from the bed. Hitomi had  
gotten up and walked forward a little. Her eyes were wide and  
unfocused, and Sarine began to worry, but then they closed again, and  
Hitomi relaxed, some underlying tension evaporating.  
  
She opened her eyes again and looked at the Draconians, peaceful  
as Sarine had always imagined the Buddha statues her mother  
sometimes told her about when she returned from a trip to Earth.  
  
"Okay," Hitomi said. "I'm ready to go home."  
  
*****  
  
Years and years later, educated men would debate whether what  
was presented in the Crusade that night was the masterwork of a  
brilliant leader or the delirious rambling of a half-frozen man; and the  
cynics would claim they were one in the same.  
  
"That's the thing, you see, they don't have rivers. So we'll give  
them rivers, except they'll be rivers of *steel*!"  
  
"Gadeth, be so kind as to se if there are any other blankets hiding  
somewhere onboard, if you please?"  
  
"I don't need any more blankets," Van said irritably from the  
cocoon of bedding that had been piled on to- of him since he had  
landed on-deck, ordered them to turn around *immediately* -- no use  
waiting for Hitomi -- and collapsed. They had taken him to the engine  
room, which was the only place on the ship guaranteed to be warm,  
and now Van had to strain what was left of his voice to be heard over  
the drone of machinery.  
  
"It couldn't hurt, Van," Allen said, gently enough.  
  
"Maybe not. But listen! We'll pay Daedalus to melt its guymelefs  
down."  
  
"Of course we will."  
  
"Don't humor me! Fanelia and Asturia and anyone else who wants  
to get in the act will pay for every guymelef they melt. It's not a lasting  
solution, but Daedalus can use all the money and the metal to build!  
Farming equipment!"  
  
"That's a lot of pitchforks, Van."  
  
"No - big things. Big metal things that have spiky bits at the end.  
You sit in them."  
  
"Oh, naturally."  
  
"You're still humoring me! I'll ask Hitomi about them. Maybe  
Dryden will help."  
  
"About Hitomi-"  
  
"See, Daedalus has always exported! And the problem isn't that  
they ran out of ore! So they'll build the machines and sell them, and  
maybe in a few years of being supported by farming in a way they  
might not mind doing it themselves if they ever do run out of raw  
material. I'm thirsty."  
  
"We'll get you some water."  
  
"And I need to talk to Ren."  
  
"I don't think anyone by that name's onboard."  
  
"So the Daedalans will also build ships so the emphasis can be  
switched from others importing to them exporting and - I think my  
legs are on fire."  
  
"That just means you're going to be all right."  
  
Van was all right in the end, although his wings would remain too  
inflexible for proper use and the tips of his fingers would suffer near  
total numbness for the rest of his life. The latter would have been  
crippling to a master swordsman, and Van would tell very few people  
his own technique was barely affected. No one at all would be told  
about his wings.  
  
Perione and a few other court officials would notice that the king  
never lapsed into one of his strange fits again, although he now would  
always sleep like the dead, which they would assume was a new  
manifestation of old stress.  
  
The Crusade docked on the flag ship of Dryden's fleet as they had  
received notice to do on the way back to Daedalus. Apparently the  
Princess Sarine had not sent word since setting out, and the court was  
in something of a panic. Van's and Allen's entourages were able to  
sneak aboard Dryden's ships with relatively little trouble. The fleet met  
The Crusade about halfway, and Celena, pale, thin figure with skirts  
fluttering out like foam on breakers seen from the porthole of the ship,  
was there to meet it when it landed.  
  
"Oniisama!" She launched herself at Allen before he could descend  
the gangplank, throwing her arms around his neck. "Oniisama, you're  
back. Thank goodness. Oh, thank goodness, Oniisama."  
  
Allen smiled, a smile for himself, not because a smile seemed the  
appropriate thing for the time, and his loved ones could claim to have  
seen only a few lovelier sights. He stroked his sister's hair. "I missed  
you too, Celena."  
  
Over his shoulder, Celena could see Van making his way towards  
them at a stiff, unsteady hobble, like an old man, but all in one piece.  
She slid off of Allen to lead Van gently by the elbow into the living  
quarters of the freighter. Van let her.  
  
"So you're all right, then?" she asked cautiously.  
  
"Fine."  
  
"And...Hitomi?"  
  
Van didn't answer. She glanced at Allen, who shook his head  
slightly.  
  
"Oh," she said. There would be time for details later, for  
explanations. Right now there was only the knowledge of what *not*  
to say, and an overwhelming, inadequate regret. "Oh, Van."  
  
He looked at her, focusing on her like he had just woken up. "I'm  
fine, Celena." Almost as if he meant it.  
  
She patted his hand, and something glinted in the torchlight.  
  
Allen stopped dead in his tracks. He grabbed her by the wrist. And  
stared at a plain silver ring on her index finger.  
  
Celena let go of Van completely. The king stumbled, unnoticed.  
  
"Oniisama..." Anything she had to say withered under the force of  
that stare.  
  
For a moment Allen's face was blank, unregistering. Then it melted  
into an expression of abject horror for a short moment before it  
resettled into steeled fanaticism.  
  
He released her hand and clutched the hilt of his sword. "Where is  
he?"  
  
"Oniisama-"  
  
"Where. Is. He?"  
  
"Oniisama, I can explain-"  
  
"Dryden Fassa!" Allen bellowed, pivoting around on his heel and  
marching away. "Where are you? Come and face me like a man, you  
lecherous coward!"  
  
"Oniisama! Wait! Please don't do anything rash!" She skittered  
after him, her voice growing more desperate the farther it was away.  
"Oniisama!"  
  
Van watched them go, then leaned back against the wall with a  
sigh. He closed his eyes and raised his head, as if towards the sun. He  
was awfully tired.  
  
"Van-sama?" Spoken by a brown head peaking around the corner  
as if it weren't quite sure.  
  
Van opened his eyes, weary but serene. "Ren. Come here. Sit  
down."  
  
Ren did so, shyly. Van slid the rest of the way down the wall so  
they were more or less on an even level.  
  
"Thanks for coming to meet me, Ren. I've been needing to talk to  
you."  
  
Ren was curled up tightly, the heel of one foot kicking the wall  
behind it in a senseless rhythm. "I'm sorry, Van-sama! I'll accept my  
punishment and I'm sorry!"  
  
Van leaned away from the wall, surprised. "What are you sorry  
for?"  
  
Ren scrubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, more a warning  
against any potential tears than a reaction to existing ones. "For telling  
Celena-san where you were, so they could go and get you. It was me  
who did that. I'm sorry."  
  
"Ren," Van said gently, that kind of gentleness that wants to  
convey subtler notes but doesn't have the capability. "I'm not going to  
punish you. You didn't do anything wrong. If Allen's ship hadn't  
reached me when it had, I might have died. If anything, I am in you  
debt, Lewilren Yarda.  
  
The words rattled around in Ren's head, dissonant and brilliant.  
"...Really?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Ren relaxed out of his huddle, mostly because he was too stunned  
to remember to stay curled up. "Okay."  
  
Van closed his eyes. "Ren, how much do you know about where I  
was?"  
  
Ren hesitated, and Van opened one eye, a reverse wink. It was  
friendly, somehow, and Ren answered. "It's cold. Cold and...lonely."  
  
The king nodded. "You're right, it is. There are people there who  
are very cold and very lonely, but they've been alone for so long that  
they don't even know how to go about *not* being lonely. I want to  
help them. I think you can, if you're willing."  
  
Ren had to crane his neck up to look at him even though they were  
both sitting down. He was so young, and for a moment Van had  
second thoughts, but then Ren said, "I don't see how I can make  
anyone know how not to be lonely, Van-sama."  
  
"That's why you can. See, Ren, part of the reason they're lonely is  
because they have power. Like you do."  
  
Ren sucked in a deep breath, contemplating this.  
  
Van turned to face him. "Ren, how would you like to leave Fanelia  
to go north? Far north."  
  
"Van-sama?"  
  
"You don't have to, of course, if you don't want to. I'm not in any  
way forcing you to go. I'd bet you would be very valuable to my court  
in a few years time. But what do you think of living with the  
Draconians for a few years? You'll learn about them, and they'll teach  
you all about your... talent. It's nothing unusual to them at all. And  
they'll learn about *you*, about humans." He was aware that he was  
drifting, talking less to Ren than to history, maybe, or his conscience,  
but Ren was staring at him, fascinated anyway. "They're like parents,  
our parents. They love us but they don't understand us, and you could  
help them understand. And then, after you come back, you can teach  
*us* about *them*, sort of pave the way for them to come back so  
they won't have to be lonely."  
  
And Ren, somehow, didn't look overwhelmed or frightened or even  
hurt, just thoughtful in a not particularly cerebral way, more like an  
artist studying the play of light and shadow. "Will I like them?"  
  
"The Draconians? I think you will. A few of them, certainly.  
There's a woman named Myra who you'll probably like a lot. And a  
lady named Sarine. I think you two would have a lot in common."  
  
"If I go, I would miss everyone in the castle."  
  
"They would miss you too."  
  
Ren gave him a look, a muted version of the glare adults get when  
they don't understand and cover it up with platitudes. "Not all that  
much, Van-sama."  
  
He didn't know exactly how Ren worked, but he figured that some  
things the boy just knew, so he just nodded.  
  
It probably wasn't right, to send a kid to do what was by all rights  
his responsibility, but it felt like the right thing to do. Ren was young,  
but that meant he hadn't had enough time to develop conflicts to his  
purpose. His burden was what would help him find the place where he  
most belonged. This felt like symmetry.  
  
Ren toyed with the cuff of his trousers before remembering he was  
next to his king and sitting up properly. It was warm in the corridor,  
and they rested together in silence, enjoying the the brief lull between  
ending and beginning.  
  
*****  
  
"Are you going to keep it?" Niabi asked.  
  
Hitomi shrugged into her coffee, making little half-moon imprints  
in the styrofoam cup with her nails. "Yeah, I think so."  
  
"But-" Niabi looked around the cafeteria and lowered her voice.  
"But... god. You know how hard.... man, Hitomi."  
  
"I don't feel like I really have a choice here, you know?" Hitomi  
touched the curve of her lower abdomen, gently. "Besides, I want it.  
This feels right."  
  
Niabi sighed, shaking her head. "What about school?"  
  
"I'm not going to drop out. Maybe I'll go part time or something.  
Get a job. I still want to have a real career, though."  
  
"Have you told your parents?"  
  
"Not yet. I'll call them tonight. I'm pretty sure my mom at least will  
be supportive, so that's okay."  
  
"That's good. You won't have to be alone."  
  
Hitomi nodded. "No, I'm not alone."  
  
Niabi smiled weakly and touched Hitomi's hand. "What are you  
going to tell people about the father?"  
  
"I don't know. It doesn't really matter - I'm not going to be alone.  
Don't look at me as if I just told you I'm dying, Niabi. This is...  
inconvenient, and I know it'll be hard, but I'm happy. This is a good  
thing."  
  
"It's not that I doubt you," Niabi said - despite honest logic -  
doubtfully. "If anyone can raise a kid by themselves, you can do it.  
Just... Hitomi... you know that it would be wrong to have a baby just  
to have some sort of link to its father, don't you?"  
  
"It's not about staying close to Van. I don't need a baby for that.  
I...I just know I'll love my baby so much, and that it'll be such a good  
person. I love this baby already. This just feels *right*."  
  
Niabi sank into her seat, shaking her head but with more  
resignation than disappointment. "So... any premonitions if it'll be a  
boy or a girl?"  
  
Hitomi took a sip of coffee with a funny, peaceful sort of smile.  
"No. None at all."  
  
*****  
  
As Allen had predicted in part of his infamous week-long lecture to  
Celena about why what she and Dryden had done was very, very  
wrong, the impromptu wedding of the future king's sister was fodder  
for months of rumors and gossip. In such matters, however, rank can  
often outweigh deed, and the scandal the two newlyweds caused was  
nothing compared to Eries refusal to wear the traditional royal  
Asturian wedding gown. The dress was a relic of misfortune, and she  
wanted her union with Allen to be the beginning of a new and joyous  
age. The princess stood firm, a new gown was commissioned and  
Celena and Dryden escaped the brunt of aristocratic derision.  
  
The wedding day was beautiful, the sun shining off the water like a  
new source of light, or a blessing.  
  
"They deserve every happiness they get," Van said to Celena,  
watching the royal couple lead the first dance of the celebration  
following the ceremony. They were being inconspicious together at  
the edge of the white canopy the size of a field, festooned with  
traditional Asturian flowers where the important people took part in  
the festivities. Smaller clusters of people, of course, were celebrating  
in their own way throughout the streets of Asturia.  
  
"I'm so happy. For both of them," Celena said with a little sigh.  
"They look beautiful together, don't they?"  
  
Van nodded. "They're a good couple."  
  
Celena fiddled with her glass. "Yes... they deserve each other, and I  
love them both very much but they're not... Van, are you *really* all  
right? I know you try hard to be strong, but you... anyone who saw  
you together with Hitomi..."  
  
"Millerna's flirting with your husband," Van said, staring at the  
crowd with a tilted head.  
  
"Your attempts to distract me notwithstanding, you and Hitomi  
had something that was more than anything I've ever seen, and it's just  
hard to believe you're really fine now that she's gone. So, Van-"  
  
Van put a hand on her shoulder, smiling, amused. "We did have  
something, and I really am fine. You don't have to worry about me,  
Celena."  
  
She searched his face and only saw the simple contentment he was  
claiming to feel.  
  
"And Millerna's resting her hand on Dryden's arm," Van reported.  
"Giggling."  
  
"I'll be off, then."  
  
****  
  
Festivities ran late. Van had expected them to, and resigned himself  
to going to bed only when the moon was nearly setting and the sky  
was grey with incoming blue.  
  
Fortunately all the partying had made him tired, and he fell asleep  
almost as soon as he hit the bedroll.  
  
And then woke up again, this time to sunlight.  
  
Hitomi wasn't beside him in the bed, so he swung his legs over the  
sides and left the room, toes curling on the plank floor.  
  
He found her in the place she called the living room. She was  
humming to herself, sprawled out on the couch, all comfortable grace.  
At his footsteps, she stopped humming, but only to smile and bounce  
up to greet him.  
  
They kissed, and drew back to talk, still holding hands.  
  
"Did I keep you waiting long?"  
  
"Oh no, I was up late studying, anyway. I just got here a little while  
ago. But that doesn't matter -- today was Allen-san's wedding, wasn't  
it?"  
  
"It was."  
  
"Did it go well? Did they seem happy? You have to describe  
everything about it to me."  
  
"I will." Their fingers intertwined. "How are you?"  
  
She rolled her eyes at him, affectionately. "I'm fine, Van."  
  
"Have you felt the baby yet?"  
  
"Van, I've been pregnant for only over a month," she told him,  
again. "The baby isn't big enough for me to feel it."  
  
"Can I try?"  
  
Hitomi nodded, smiling.  
  
Van lowered himself to his knees in front of her, slowly, and put a  
hand to her stomach with infinite gentleness, as if she was something  
that might break. Just as carefully, he leaned the side of his head to  
rest against her abdomen, closing his eyes.  
  
Hitomi ran her fingers through his hair, just letting him hear and  
feel like they had all the time the world could give them.  
  
And in a way they did. When they had found each other they had  
found this place that Folken had first shown Van, this house, that was  
nowhere and all theirs. They would meet here every night in their  
sleep, as each others dreams, but a dream as real as everything else  
between them. No one could take this away from them, and it would  
always be so.  
  
It wasn't what either of them had asked for. It was both more and  
less, but it would be enough and, in that, it was wonderful.  
  
"Do you hear anything?" Hitomi asked.  
  
"It sounds like the ocean," Van said. "It sounds like us."  
  
Hitomi smiled and closed her eyes, too. Through the window, the  
endless summer sunlight shone down.  
  
  
The End 


End file.
